


Ælfsiden

by NathanielCardeu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Adultery, Dark, Explicit Language, F/M, Horror, Minor Character Death, Not Epilogue Compliant, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielCardeu/pseuds/NathanielCardeu
Summary: Moving into a new house, with two young children, can be stressful enough. Add in a messy divorce and festive preparations, and you have a recipe for disaster. But these are the least of Hermione’s problems; her nightmare is just beginning, and this year, there’s no way of knowing who will live to see Christmas Day.





	1. An Unexpected Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing! The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB.
> 
> Originally written for the Granger Enchanted Christmas Prompt Table Challenge, a few years back!  
> My prompt words were 'Elf' and 'Thunder'
> 
> It could have been so twinkly, and shiny, with mistletoe and spiced wine, and presents under the tree, happy families... but instead a very different sort of plot bunny bit me that year... So, for Christmas, I went dark…

Hermione pushed open the door, fighting against whatever was on the other side. The edge of the door left tracks in the dust and she peered through the gap to see the large, gloomy room beyond. Lighting her wand she pushed into the dark room, glancing behind the door and seeing the bundle of cloth, old bedding of some kind by the looks of it, that had wedged under the door. A flick of her wand pulled it free and pushed it to the wall, out of the way.

 

The room was quite large, easily fifteen meters square, with two large built-in wardrobes along the right hand wall. Between the two sets of doors was a grand looking vanity unit. Heavy, dark drapes obscured the far wall, slivers of light visible along the top edge.

 

Another flick of her wand flung the curtains apart, flooding the room with daylight and clouds of dust as the bottom of the heavy drapes flicked across the carpet. Hermione grimaced at the state of the room now it was fully revealed. The old anaglypta wallpaper, with its decorative whorls and patterns, was faded and yellowed with age, peeling and lifting in numerous places. The ceiling paint blackening around the edges, especially by the window; the centre of the ceiling was flaking badly with large bare patches.

 

Hermione sighed, realising that this, like every room she’d looked at so far in this large house, was in the same tired and dilapidated state. It had probably lain, undisturbed, for many years and was going to take her a few days to get it tidied and clean through before she could even think about redecorating it.

 

From outside the room came the sound of running feet and Hugo’s high pitched voice yelling for his sister. Sticking her head out of the room, Hermione saw Rose running along the corridor with Hugo trailing behind.

 

“Rose! Hugo! Stop running around and pick your room.”

 

“Okay Mummy!” Her five year old daughter immediately dashed into the nearest room, forcing the door open to vanish inside.

 

Hugo spun around at Hermione’s voice and his face lit up with one of his heart melting smiles. Hermione felt all her cares and concerns fade and crouched down as her little two year old man ran at her, arms open. She swept him up into a hug, spinning him around and hearing him giggle. From downstairs Hermione heard the moving men hauling large pieces of furniture into the house and moved to join them. Hugo wriggled out of her arms and ran off after Rose, calling her name at the top of his lungs.

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur as Hermione directed the men to place the larger items in certain rooms, planning on shifting things around once she was finished with the decorations and cleaning. Once the workmen were gone, she set to cleaning the kitchen and began to prepare dinner. She found her concentration wandering as she was stirring the pot, thinking of the past and wondering exactly what the future was to bring. Her attention was snapped back to the present by little feet, running at full speed and pattering across the tiled floor. Her heart leaping as she was startled out of her reverie. Little arms reached out, hands wrapping around her legs, and Hugo yelled “Boo!” before running off, giggling.

 

“Oh, you’re a pest!” Hermione put a hand on her chest, trying to still her galloping heart.

 

“Oh a pest! PEST!!” Hugo’s shouts drifted around the corner and Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip, a smile trying to escape her control. In Hugo’s baby babble it sounded like he was shouting ‘pissed’. She had to remember to tell Ron… she stopped that thought in its tracks. With a lump in her throat Hermione turned back to the dinner and continued to stir, trying not to think.

 

A short time later saw the little trio settled at the table, eating the simple pasta and meatballs. Tired after the long day, the kids were well behaved; Hugo, fork in one hand, was eating slowly using his other hand. He hardly took his eyes off the Muggle television Hermione had purchased. Rose quietly scribbled in her drawing pad, a variety of coloured crayons scattered in front of her. Hermione was barely paying attention, simply pushing her food around the plate, unable to eat now the excitement of moving had died down for the day.

 

“No crayons at the table.” She finally noticed Rose drawing rather than eating. Rose quickly put the crayons aside and picked up her fork, taking a huge mouthful of pasta. She mumbled something and Hermione just looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

 

Chewing quickly Rose swallowed, pulling a slightly pained face as she did so. “When’s Daddy coming home?”

 

Caught off guard by the question Hermione blinked rapidly, paying sudden interest in her plate and avoiding her daughter’s eyes. She took Hugo’s fork out of his hand, turning it over and giving it back, without the toddler noticing. “Soon, I hope. It’s a complicated mission but he said he would visit as often as he could.”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Probably not tomorrow, sweetheart. Maybe Monday?”

 

“It’s Saturday now… so that’s…” Rose paused and thought for a bit, “the day after tomorrow!”

 

“That’s right, sweety.  I’ll have to write to him and it may take a while for him to respond.” Hermione tried to summon up more enthusiasm and change the subject, asking whether Rose had had any magical moments yet.

 

“Not yet.” Rose wasn’t too worried but Hermione was starting to get a little concerned that her daughter had not yet shown any magical affinity. Hugo had already levitated his cot, several times, and made his toys dance, all the time laughing and clapping along.

 

“All done, Mummy! All done!” Hugo was pointing at the television, distressed and unhappy. His little hand opened and closed and he was staring at Hermione, shaking his head and whining a little under his breath.

 

Hermione looked at the screen and saw a strange cartoon with an animated baby body and a photo realistic head. The child narrator referred to the baby as Baby Jake and Hermione was inclined to agree with Hugo’s sentiment. That baby was likely to cause nightmares; especially the bizarre rabbit next to him! With a flick of her wand she changed the channel to something that Hugo found a lot more palatable; an aptly named story about two strange creatures, one very small and loud and the other very big and careful. She was sure she recognised the voice of the larger creature from her youth, from before Hogwarts.

 

Hugo clapped in time with the small one’s squeaky song, before holding up his empty bowl and saying “All done!” happily. Hermione made a fuss of him for finishing his dinner and they all rounded off the meal with bananas and custard, retiring to the lounge and reading a story together in front of the fire.

 

The older witch enjoyed the simplistic scene she saw when she glanced up at the mirror above the mantle. She was not housewife material; that she was sure of. Her relationship with Ron had also proven that, if nothing else, her husband needed a wife that had similar housekeeping skills to Molly Weasley. That, unfortunately, was more of a housewife than Hermione was willing to be!

 

At this moment in time however, with her children squished in beside her on the sofa – Hugo fast asleep and Rose hanging on her every word – she knew why Molly Weasley did what she did and seemed to love every second of it.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

3rd December

 

Monday afternoon was surprisingly warm, especially for early December, and Hermione was unpacking all of Hugo’s things and packing them away neatly. His room had been completely cleared of cobwebs and dust and all his furniture had been moved in.

 

Ron was there, playing with the kids in the garden and Hermione had taken advantage of the situation. She was aiming to complete the cleaning of the property, from top to bottom including all the smaller side rooms that hadn’t yet been examined.

 

As she packed away Hugo’s clothes she wondered at the last two years, how fast they had gone by and the changes those years had brought about. The path Hugo’s birth had forced upon her. The people she had met… had gone too far with.

 

A little later on and Ron had taken the children out for dinner. Hermione was sorting out her own room when she caught sight of the letter she had received yesterday, in response to her own message;

 

_Of course I would like to see the kids tomorrow. 2 o’clock is fine. Ron_

 

Despite herself Hermione had felt her eyes fill up at the brevity and lack of affection in the letter. It had been received shortly before dinner, a couple of hours after she had sent the invitation to Ron. The happiness on Rose and Hugo’s faces at the news that their father was coming to visit them almost made her tear up again.

 

Partway through her tidying she had another moment of weakness. She had filled the wardrobe with her clothes but had automatically left room on one side for Ron’s clothes. The reminder had caught her off guard. What was going to happen?

 

It was just after six when Ron returned with Hugo and Rose, arriving by the same Ministry car that had taken them away. He came into Hermione’s room where she was still unpacking. His steps hampered slightly by a giggling Hugo, clamped onto his leg.

 

“So, have you got everything then? Completely moved out?” His voice was not rough, it was not angry. It was just, empty.

 

“Ron!” Hermione gestured at Hugo, worried about him hearing this and wondering. At least Rose was downstairs at the moment! She would definitely have had questions.

 

“It’s fine, Hermione. Hugo’s too little to really understand.”

 

“I feel that he understands more than he lets on!”

 

“Hmm, that’s true.” Ron gave Hugo a suspicious glance that the little boy returned with a large smile. The older red-head ruffled Hugo’s hair and watched as he ran off. “Look, if there’s anything else left, I can have it delivered tomorrow for you.”

 

“Ron, can’t we talk about this?”

 

“I think we’ve said enough, don’t you, Hermione? I thought you had got him out of your system… that we could try and rebuild, if only for the kids’ sakes. Guess not.”

 

“Ron… I’m sorry, it’s just…”

 

“It’s fine, Hermione. I don’t want to keep dredging it up. I think we were heading this way anyway. Probably since Rose was born, if we’re honest with each other. I gotta go, owl me if you find anything missing.”

 

He looked around, taking in the piles of boxes and clothes, paperwork and various ornaments. Hermione knew the room was looking a little crowded but she had a plan and wasn’t concerned.

 

“You sure you’ve got enough room here?”

 

Hermione nodded, holding onto her emotions, not wanting to break down now. “There’s a basement and a decent sized loft here so I’ll move some things around and get rid of the excess into one of them to give me room.”

 

“Maybe start with the basement? You’ll be able to move things back up easier than down from…” Ron stopped, seeing Hermione’s jaw clench and her eyes narrow slightly, stubborn and annoyed. He held up his hands. “Sorry, do what you want… you usually do.” He turned to go and Hermione heard him mutter, as he goes. “Generally the opposite of whatever I advise but there you go…”

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

4th December

 

The next day Hermione led a floating box through the house, intending on taking it upstairs to the loft, when Ron’s words come back to her. In a fit of pique she decided to prove him wrong and use the basement, muttering under her breath the whole time about how he was impossible and out of line. Crookshanks, recently arrived from Harry and Pansy’s, followed but stopped at the top of the stairs. His fur rose and he began to growl, low in his throat.

 

Hermione looked from the stairwell, to her half-Kneazle companion and back again. Her gaze was drawn into the darkness; creepy and cobwebbed with a cold chill creeping up from below. A shiver chased through her body, not helped by Crooks’ strange behaviour. She attempted to reassure the cat who hissed at her touch and backed away, beginning to yowl. The bushy-haired witch, more disturbed than she wanted to admit to herself, sent a glowing ball of light down the stairs to light the area. The shadows were chased aside, revealing a small stairwell with bare stone walls lining the way. At the base was a flat stone floor, devoid of anything other than dust. The wooden door that led into the basement proper was closed, dripping with cobwebs and dust though no actual spiders were to be seen.

 

Leaving the box at the top of the stairs she headed down, her wand held in a firm grip. As her foot touched the stone floor at the base, she got another terrible chill and an irrational fear crept over her, shrinking the flesh of her scalp. It felt as if the walls are closing in and something was watching, something that wished her ill. At the top of the stairs, Crookshanks spat and yowled angrily before running off in a rattle of claws on the wooden floor.

 

Hermione thought she could hear whispers in the shadowy corners of the stairwell; tiny voices that whispered mysterious and unidentifiable words. Telling herself that she was letting her imagination get the better of her she scanned the area with her wand and, surprisingly, found something that resonated magic. Crouching down Hermione found a small sliver of silver, almost three inches long and blunted at one end, standing up in a crack in the floor. It radiated a residual magic and quite powerful too, for its size. Curious she took it back upstairs, secretly grateful for the excuse to leave the basement area for the moment.

 

Unseen by the witch, there was a movement at the bottom of the door; something shifting in the dirt at the base. The bright ball of light began to sink, as if it was being pulled downwards. There was a sudden crackle of silver lightning, chasing over the door and, with a low roll of thunder, a bolt of light struck the floor. There was a hiss of pain, sibilant and angry.

 

Silence descended for the moment, until Hugo appeared at the top of the stairs. He stared down into the stairwell, one hand holding onto the wall, the other toying with his shirt. The whispering started again, the less pleasant hiss joining in and calling to the little boy.

 

Hugo began to head downwards.

 

With each step the whispering increased, the dark voice urging the boy onwards. Calling him deeper.

 

He had gone down two steps when Hermione abruptly appeared once more and swept him into the air. Hugo instantly began to cry and struggle, pointing down the stairs and demanding to go down there.

 

“No darling, you’re not going down there by yourself. Rose! You’re supposed to be watching Hugo!”

 

“I am! He’s aslee… oh!”

 

“Hugo, go to your sister.”

 

“Mummy!” Hugo was desperately pointing over Hermione’s shoulder, down the stairs. “People. Mummy, people!”

 

“What, darling?”

 

“People! People!!”

 

Hugo’s voice was filled with an urgency usually reserved for things that scared him and Hermione got another chill. Looking downwards she thought she saw a glimpse of something moving at the base of the door.

 

Rose screamed from the lounge and the sound of an explosion rocked the house. Glass shattered in the direction of the scream and Hermione ran, forgetting what she had seen and heard in the stairwell.

 

Reaching her daughter, Hugo still kicking and crying in her arms, Hermione took in the scene with a practiced eye. Rose had been drawing and painting using her craft set that her uncles, twin brothers Fred and George, had given her from their shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. The girl had knocked her paint and water over, a milky pink puddle extending in front of her over the cream carpet. Rose herself was pressed back against the sofa, staring out the patio doors.

 

Hermione saw a man, sprawled out in the middle of the patio, unmoving; the glass was broken and scattered around the garden as if smashed outwards. Tendrils of smoke rose lazily from the man’s clothes.

 

Hermione got Rose’s attention, giving her Hugo and instructing her to get behind the sofa and stay there. Rose tried to protest, wanting to stay closer but Hermione would not listen. After a moment the girl obeyed, half carrying, half dragging her brother behind the sofa. Hugo continued to shout for his Mummy but the witch was already stepping out into the garden, through the shattered doorway.

 

Muttering about reporters and how she wished they’d leave her alone for five minutes, Hermione stepped closer, wand drawn. Standing over the man, she stopped and put one hand on her hip.

 

What was Theo Nott doing, unconscious, in her garden?

 

With a sigh of consternation she scratched her head, staring down at the man she had, until recently, been having an affair with.

 


	2. Exploring

Theo Nott sat in Hermione’s kitchen, a rapidly melting ice pack held to the back of his head. Hermione could feel his eyes on her back and she determinedly did not look at him as she made two cups of tea. She was trying to collect herself and get her traitorous thoughts under control once more.

 

He was supposed to be giving her space to work through everything with Ron. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be with him after all this. He was fun to shag, but she didn’t consider him relationship material. What the hell was he doing here?

 

She had spent the last hour, whilst Theo was unconscious, congratulating Rose on her magic outburst that had smashed the window and blasted Theo onto his arse. The little girl had been worried that she was in trouble but Hermione was just relieved to see her magic make an appearance at last. At least it was in there somewhere, and from the force of the blast, quite powerful. Hermione had repaired the glass on the door easily enough.

 

She turned and plonked the mug of tea down on the counter. Theo looked up at her sheepishly. “I…”

 

“Most people use the doorbell, Nott. Or at least knock! They don’t just wander around to the back door, peer in through the patio door and scare the living shit out of the occupant’s five year old daughter.”

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I just wanted to see if you were in at all… but I was trying not to disturb you. I didn’t mean to scare her.”

 

“Well that worked, didn’t it?”

 

Theo grimaced at the sarcasm and took a swig of the tea. “Her magic seems to be alright after all.”

 

Hermione shrugged noncommittally. “Who’d have thought that scaring the crap out of her would be the way to kick start it.”

 

Theo grinned, forcing a small smile from Hermione. At the look in her eyes, Theo snorted with laughter then winced as the pain in his head returned.

 

As he clutched the back of his head again Hermione gestured at him. “Come here. Let me take a look at the wound again. I’m good with cry babies… they generally overreact to the smallest of scratches.”

 

Theo started to protest but hissed in pain when Hermione grabbed his head and parted his hair, the motion pulling at the wound. It wasn’t too bad but there were a couple of tiny stones stuck in the wound and Hermione quickly cleaned them out with her wand. Theo winced and twitched at each pull, forcing Hermione to slap him lightly on the shoulder. With the wound cleaned Hermione applied an _Episkey_ healing charm to close the cuts.

 

“All done.” Despite her declaration, Hermione found that her hand lingered in Theo’s hair and she continued to check his scalp. Her fingers ran through his hair, forcing a sigh from him and she felt a tremble run through her body. “What is it about you, Nott?”

 

Theo suddenly twisted in the chair, pulling the witch down into his lap. His mouth found hers and her hands tugged harder on his hair, her teeth biting his lip in sudden desperation. She could feel his hardness growing against the underside of her thigh and a corresponding heat built in her groin.

 

His hands caressed her face and they parted, gazing into each other’s eyes. Theo was panting for breath, his pupils dilated. “I can’t get you out of my head.” Hermione shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, unwilling to stop but desperate to let go.

 

At that moment the door pushed open and Hermione sprang up as if burned and stepped away from Theo.

 

Rose’s little face peered around the door. “Mummy… Daddy’s here.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. A baleful finger was suddenly levelled at Theo. “You! Stay here and don’t move!”

 

“I’m here if you need me.”

 

“Don’t even start! Sit!”

 

Rose glared at Theo and mimicked Hermione, pointing at Theo and gesturing for him to sit. The man raised his hands and sat down again, a wry smile on his face.

 

As they headed towards the lounge, Hermione told Rose not to mention anything about Theo to Ron. “He doesn’t need the extra stress of worrying about us at the moment. We’re strong women and can look after ourselves, aren’t we? We don’t need to involve Daddy.” Rose nodded her agreement and reached up to hold Hermione’s hand.

 

“Ron.” Hermione tried to find some warmth, some semblance of happiness at seeing him. She could only manage annoyed and a little awkward with the kids nearby.

 

The red-head silently handed her a bundle of envelopes, some of them thick and expensive looking. Hermione swallowed hard, fighting tears that threatened and she knew what these envelopes contained. As Ron opened his mouth to speak, Hugo ran up shouting loudly. “Hi, Daddy! Hiya, Daddy!!”

 

Ron crouched down and wrapped Hugo in a big hug and lifted him up. “Hiya, little man! How are you? Have you been a good boy for Mummy?”

 

“Yes!” Hugo nodded his head emphatically, looking seriously into Ron’s eyes.

 

“Have you now? I suspect that’s a bit of a stock answer, but we’ll take it.” Ron smiled as Hugo chattered rapidly for a few seconds, playing with his fingers before pointing off in the vague direction of the lounge. “Daddy, man! A man. Mummy see man!”

 

“A man?” Ron looked at Hermione, eyes narrowing briefly, a strained smile on his face. “You got visitors have you?”

 

“Yes.” Hugo plunged into more unintelligible babble after this declaration, accompanied by pointing to the lounge and then the kitchen.

 

“Really?” Ron’s voice was filled with sarcastic excitement and Hermione grimaced, knowing that there was no way of avoiding the inevitable, but determined to try.

 

“It’s nothing, Ron. Someone came over and knocked on the door at the back. He scared Rose and she, kind of, blasted the window and knocked him out.”

 

“I didn’t mean to, Mummy!” Hermione made shushing noises, trying to calm the young girl down but Rose, feeling like she was being blamed for what had happened, kept talking. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mister Nott, it just happened! I don’t know where it came from!” Hermione shut her eyes, wanting the ground to swallow her up; her skin was burning the second Theo’s name had come up.

 

“Is Mister Nott still here?” Ron asked quietly and Rose nodded. Hugo babbled excitedly and pointed at the kitchen, struggling to get down from Ron’s arms. Ron set the young boy down and he immediately ran to the kitchen, pushing the swinging door open and shouting for Ron to follow. Ignoring Hermione’s protests, Ron stalked into the kitchen, stepping past his son and turning baleful eyes upon the man within.

 

“Weasley!” said Theo, jovially. “Good to see you again.” Nott was stood on the other side of the dining table, a poor barrier should Ron decide to blast him. As it was Ron glanced down at Hugo, who once again had his arms wrapped around the red-haired man’s leg, waffling happily to himself.

 

“You seem to be standing now and I’m sorry that you only sustained a minor injury. For the sake of my kids, I think you should leave, Mister Nott.”

 

“I just came over to make sure Hermione was okay, Ron. Nothing sinister.” Theo held his hands out to the side.

 

“I don’t care, Theo. Regardless of what happens, now or in the future with this… mess, I don’t want my kids involved any more than can be helped. So, if you want help, I can gladly help you leave… but I suggest you find your own way out because I don’t know the property very well and might mistake a window for a door.”

 

“Point taken… Bye Hugo! It was nice to have met you.” Ignoring the tightening of Ron’s jaw Theo came around the table and held out his hand to the little boy.

 

Immediately the little red head walked up, took hold of Theo’s fingers and shook his hand. “How do do?”

 

Theo laughed and even Ron’s face briefly softened in a smile at the little one’s antics. Then he locked eyes with Theo and the smile left him again. Theo nodded and backed away, just as the second door, adjoining the lounge, opened and Hermione gestured for him to leave. The witch cast an annoyed glare at Ron who studiously ignored the look, stooping to chat with Hugo again.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Later that night Hermione lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. Moon cast shadows danced on the ceiling; branches from nearby trees swaying in the gentle winter breeze. Somewhere nearby a vixen was calling for some male attention and Hermione glanced across at the sleeping figure sprawled on his front beside her. His toned back was visible where the covers had slipped down and the marks of her fingernails were visible in the half light. She remembered the feel of his dark hair, gripped in her hands as he had…

 

She sighed in a strange combination of melancholy and satisfaction. She was still conflicted about her feelings for this man but his prowess and ability to make her weak at the knees made it hard for her to stop letting him in. Into her life, into her home, into her; Theo Nott was a difficult drug for her to quit.

 

It hadn’t taken much to persuade Theo to stay; to sneak into Hermione’s bedroom and wait there till she came for him. After she had made lunch for the kids, she sent them off with Ron for the rest of the day. They discussed Rose’s magical outburst and Ron agreed to see if he could get her to do anything else and that he was going to have them for a couple of days later in the week while Hermione finished unpacking and organising the house. The look in Ron’s eyes and the package he had delivered, still hurt but she only wanted to spend some time with Theo and dismissed the feelings quickly, resolving to feel sorry for herself later.

 

The rest of the day had been spent in bed and out of it. Theo was a passionate and generous lover and much more adventurous than Ron. They travelled around the house, having sex in several rooms; the bedroom, the kitchen whilst making coffee, the bathroom whilst showering. Every time was heaven for the bushy haired witch and she was able to pretend that her life wasn’t falling apart around her ears. Ron had brought the kids home later on and Theo had, at her insistence, stayed concealed in her room. She just didn’t need the aggravation.

 

Unfortunately it seemed that Rose hadn’t had any more magical moments, but the explosion was at least reassuring to both her and Ron that she had _some_ magic. It would come, in time, they reassured her.

 

Hermione lay awake now, aching but generally happy, and thought how lucky she was that her friends had not completely abandoned her. Harry had helped her find this place. Fred and George gladly diverted the Weasley family’s anger away from her and distracted them while she had collected her stuff from her ex-home with Ron.

 

She found herself reminiscing about the break down of her marriage, blaming both Ron for her straying and herself for letting Theo get under her skin. She was starting to feel that she was more alive than she had been in a long time, now that she was away from Ron’s oppressive routine and demands that she become a ‘proper’ housewife. She didn’t _want_ to give up her job at the Ministry and was going to do everything she could to keep it, even though it would mean time away from Hugo during the day.

 

She had these next two weeks off work to sort out the house, arrange day care for Hugo (with someone who could handle a magical baby!) and get her life in order. Then, after another week at work, she was off again and had to tackle Christmas! It was going to be a stressful time and, if she was likely to spend it alone…

 

There was a sudden rumble, as if thunder had rolled over the house, and the whole building shook. In the darkness, Rose screamed in fear, Theo fell out of bed in surprise and Hermione sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. Leaping out of bed she threw open her bedroom door and sprinted down the corridor to her kids.

 

She reached Rose’s room, just as the little girl came out. In the half light of the corridor her eyes were wide. “Are you okay, Rose? What happened?”

 

“I don’t know, Mummy! Something went bang and scared me!” Her voice trembled with fear and she was on the verge of tears. Hermione gave her a hug, pulling her close and feeling her body shake. “It wasn’t me, Mummy! I promise!”

 

“It’s okay, my love. Stay in your room, sweetheart, I’ll come and get you in a minute. I’ve got to check on Hugo.”

 

Hermione ran on to Hugo’s room, Rose still calling after her. The distressed witch pushed open the door to her son’s door, seeing the moonlight casting a shadow over the floor, toys, stuffed animals and jigsaw pieces scattered across the carpet. She felt her heart stop beating.

 

The bed was empty.


	3. Awake

Calling Hugo’s name, Hermione pulled the covers off of the bed and found it empty except for Hugo’s cuddly monkey. She spun, searching the room, throwing open the cupboard, half expecting him to be hiding in the pile of clothes on the floor. She desperately tried to keep her emotions under control, fear and panic vying for dominance.

 

Deciding that Hugo was not in his room she turned and ran out, still calling his name. In the darkness of the landing there was a flash of light, and suddenly she was struggling with a shadowy figure, arms and legs tangling and the beam of light flashing in her eyes. She screamed and fought; in the darkness of the night, all her past war experience and logic deserting her for blind terror.

 

Theo, dressed only in his boxers, grabbed at her arms, dropping his wand in favour of holding her more securely. The light went out, plunging them into the half light of the moon.

 

Recognising the wizard, Hermione gasped, “Theo! I need to find Hugo! I don’t know where he is!!”

 

“Okay, it’s okay, we’ll find him! Is Rose alright?” Hermione nodded, looking over to where her daughter cowered in the door to her room. “Okay then, don’t worry. We’ll find him. You search up here, I’ll start downstairs. It’ll be fine, Hermione, here’s your wand.” He kissed her on the forehead as he pressed the wand into her hand. Stooping, he retrieved his wand from the floor and dashed towards the stairs, his wand lit and held high.

 

Hermione watched him go, finding a moment of warmth from his concern and cool. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment at her own reaction to the situation; she was not being calm or rational, and if he hadn’t been here to snap her out of her panic…

 

“Mummy…” Rose was hesitant and Hermione sighed, knowing that the girl would have questions about Theo.

 

“It’s okay, darling. Go back in your room. Mummy has to find Hugo.” Leaving the girl in the doorway, she started to search. She checked the bathroom and the small study area, mostly full of boxes and piles of paper but no Hugo. She’d had no time to sort the room out yet and had told the kids not to go in here, so she would have been surprised to find him there.

 

“Hermione!” Theo’s voice floated up to her, and she sprinted downstairs, nearly loosing her footing and only just managing to stay upright. Calling his name and hearing him answer, she quickly found Theo, stood at the top of the stairs to the basement.

 

Looking down she saw Hugo, stood in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, the door nowhere to be seen. He was lit up by a white glow somewhere in front of him, within the room, casting his shadow on the stairs. His shadow danced and moved, as if the light within the room was in motion, jerking spasmodically through the air. The little boy was laughing, bobbing up and down with his feet close together, upper body swaying from side to side, dancing to a sound only he could hear. His hands were clapping and his bare feet stomping occasionally.

 

Hermione practically fell down the stairs trying to reach him. The clattering noise brought Hugo round to face her and, seeing her face, he grinned. “Mummy!” Pointing behind him he yelled at her, eagerly wanting her to see something. “Look, Mummy! People, Mummy! People!”

 

Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, pulling Hugo to her in a strong hug, relieved to see him safe. Hugo struggled to get out of Hermione’s grip, desperately babbling about people and trying to see into the basement again. Hermione looked up, hearing Theo walking down towards her, before turning her eyes to the room.

 

The inside of the basement was lit by two hanging lanterns, a magical white fire burning brightly. Each lantern hung on a rusty chain, swinging gently and causing the shadows to move and sway. Each moved independently of the other, causing the shadows to jump a little as they crossed. The room was large, easily equal to the footprint of one half of the house. Dust sheets and cobwebs covered a few boxes, towards the far end, piled up and covered with debris. The main central area was clear, though filled with shards of splintered wood. Larger chunks were scattered around the area. Hermione noted that the door truly was missing and quickly drew her own conclusions about what had happened.

 

Hugo was upset, waving his hand at the basement before letting it fall to his side, head hanging and his bottom lip stuck out. “Oh, gone!” He wafted his hand at the room again in distress.

 

Hermione took one last look around; satisfied the room was empty—except for the old junk—she scooped the boy up. She pushed past Theo and headed upstairs again. Nott glanced around the room, shivering slightly in the chill air.

 

Hermione was checking Hugo over when the dark haired man entered the kitchen. Now that the excitement had died down, the boy looked tired and sleepy again, though he was still chatting about people and dancing. Satisfied that he was fine and uninjured, Hermione took him upstairs again. She reassured Rose that all was okay and took Hugo to his room. Her daughter joined them briefly, giving Hugo a kiss before wandering, tiredly, back to her own room. Tucking her little girl in, Hermione then warded both rooms with protective spells, just to be safe. She shook her head at her reaction but didn’t remove the Charms as she headed downstairs to re-join Theo.

 

The handsome man had made two cups of hot tea in the meantime and handed one to the bushy-haired witch as she entered the room. The room was warming up, thanks to the Charm that Theo had set to work, and the room was almost comfortable, though gooseflesh still pebbled her arms.

 

“What happened do you think, Hermione?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Hermione shook her head and took a sip of the hot liquid, feeling it chase some of her tension away. “I think something disturbed Hugo, so he got up, made his way downstairs and down to the basement door. He was keen to get down there earlier so maybe it was just a moment of toddler curiosity; he’s very wilful when he wants to be.”

 

“Takes after his mother then?”

 

Hermione punched him lightly on the shoulder, smiling. “As for where the door went… I’m not sure but I think those shards of wood are what remains. The bang we heard must have been Hugo, blasting the door open.”

 

“Really? Bit advanced for a two year old.”

 

“He’s surprisingly powerful and his magic is very sudden and reactive. He probably got down there, couldn’t open the door and had one of his temper tantrums; blasted the door open with some uncontrolled magic.”

 

“And any left over magic lit the lanterns and made them dance around?”

 

“Probably. He’s made his cot float, with him in it! And made his toys dance around. A blast that shattered the door would be no problem!”

 

“He’s going to be a handful as he gets older, isn’t he?”

 

“His tantrums are the worst. You never know if they’re going to involve random blasts of magic or other unusual effects! Most toddlers would sulk if they didn’t get their way. Hugo may just blow up the sofa!”

 

“I saw something interesting in the basement, when I had a quick look. What do you make of it?”

 

Hermione put her cup down as Theo held out a chunk of wood. It was a triangular piece, about five inches across, tapering towards the other side. On the flat edge were two scratched lines, less than a centimetre thick at their widest. Both lines were straight cuts, starting together and angling away, forming the two lines of a triangle.

 

“Strange, looks like part of a larger piece of art or writing of some kind. Be interesting to see the rest of it. Must have been on the inside of the door, I didn’t see anything on the outside before.”

 

“Well, I can gather up the bits of wood and see if I can get some of my minions to try and piece it together? I can set a couple on it, say it’s part of a case I’m working on. It’s kind of true.”

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I wouldn’t want you to waste Auror resources…”

 

Theo was already waving her down. “It’s fine. Luckily it’s a bit quiet at the moment and those particular two were worried about having to take time off. They’ll be happy to do anything that keeps them working and getting paid!”

 

“Thank you, Theo. For tonight… and for earlier, with Ron” At his quizzical look she elaborated. “For not causing a scene when he found you here.”

 

The wizard waved the comment away. “It’s fine, I know how Weasley feels about me and how his temper is; the last thing the kids need is the strange man and their father punching hell out of each other. As much as the way he talks to you makes me want to shove his teeth down his throat.” He smiled, indicating that at least part of this comment was a joke.

 

With a small laugh Hermione placed a hand on Theo’s arm. “No, and I really do appreciate it.”

 

“Not a problem. I’m here for you Hermione, you know that, right?” Hermione didn’t speak for a moment, unable to meet his eyes. Theo interrupted her thoughts before she could speak. “You’re not sure about this are you? It’s all too soon, with the divorce and everything?”

 

“How did you know…?”

 

“I saw the papers you threw in your room earlier. The ones Ron left you?”

 

“You shouldn’t be prying into my private stuff!”

 

“To be honest, all I saw was a large envelope and a very official looking letter from Malfoy’s firm and guessed the rest. You just confirmed what I suspected.”

 

“Sneaky shit.”

 

“Slytherin.” Theo grinned, unabashed.

 

“Fine, so you know.” Hermione shrugged, desperately striving for indifference. “After today’s fiasco Ron has said that he will be trying for full custody of the children too. I’m sure the Prophet will have a field day when it comes to light but…”

 

“Let them gossip, Hermione. The only thing that matters is you; you and the kids. As long as they are protected and kept out of this mess as much as possible, then that’s all that matters. And I’m sorry for my part in this, too. If I hadn’t been here when Ron turned up…”

 

“I don’t love you, just so you know.”

 

Theo snorted with laughter, a small smile on his face, expression unreadable. “Okay, duly noted. But, in all this upheaval, if you fancy a change of career, don’t go for mediwitch… your bad news delivery is _awful_!”

 

She waved her hand, gesturing at both of them. “Look, I’m not sure what… _this_ is between us yet. But I know it’s not love and it might never be that. So if you’re thinking of some kind of wonderful Christmas miracle where we will live happily ever after, then get it out of your mind now!”

 

“It’s fine.” Theo took her hand and patted it. “I can wait for you. I’m not going anywhere and when you realise that you’re wrong… well, we’ll see.” Theo stood, pulling her up as she shook her head in exasperation. He placed a finger on her lips and shushed her. “Come on, there’s still plenty of the night left. You need to get some sleep. I’ll make a move now.”

 

“But it’s still dark…”

 

“All the better to get out of here, without any lurking reporters seeing me. You go to bed; I’ll get the bits of wood and let myself out.”

 

Hermione suddenly felt exhausted. The sudden activity over the last few hours seemed to be catching up with her and, together, they headed back upstairs.

 

Hermione was settled under the covers once more, fighting sleep as Theo was getting dressed. “I am grateful that you were here tonight, Theo. I think I… I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off as sleep pulled her under.

 

“It’s okay, Hermione, I understand. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Theo left the room, pulling the door closed behind him and lighting his wand. He headed down to the basement again, relighting the two lanterns with a flick. Kneeling in the doorway he took a small leather bag from his pocket and set it on the ground. Holding the piece of wood he had collected earlier in his left hand he waved his wand, chanting quietly under his breath.

 

Slowly the shards and splinters of wood began to lift from the floor, pulling together and drifting towards Theo. With confident motions he directed them into the bag, each piece vanishing within. The Undetectable Extension Charm on the bag allowed it to take the entire door without a problem.

 

As the last piece dropped out of sight Theo looked around, thinking he heard whispers in the shadows. He fought down the feeling of dread that crept over his shoulders, lifting the hair on the back of his neck and shrinking the flesh on his scalp. Crouching down he placed the chunk of wood from his left hand on the floor, picking up the leather bag and securing the straps again, leaving one pocket open. Once he was satisfied that the majority of it was shut up tightly, he reaching to pick up the piece of wood again, intending on putting it in the pocket.

 

As he did so he thought he saw movement and his eyes snapped up, focused on the corner of the room. The area towards the back was full of old discarded cloths and blankets, covered in dust and cobwebs.

 

There was a quiet sound; as if a snake had laughed, or someone was hissing between their teeth. Theo was struck with a deep fear of something lurking, waiting to snuff out his life.

 

There was the rapid but quiet sound of running – small, bare feet slapping on the stone—as if a tiny figure was running across the floor. Spinning around, his heart jumping, Theo pointed his wand in that direction, half expecting to see Hugo. There was nothing but dancing shadows in the glow of his wand.

 

He froze like that for a while, fighting down the thought that something was sliding out of the darkness behind and reaching for him. After a few moments of silence, hearing only his own heart beat, he decided he was jumping at shadows and reached for the wood piece again. He thought he heard a quiet cackle in the darkness and there was a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in his palm.

 

Giving a muffled shout Theo looked down and saw a large splinter sticking out of his flesh. He had clearly got careless and impaled himself on the jagged wood. Pulling it free he dropped it in the pouch, tucking the larger piece beside it. The tiny injury throbbed painfully, though it had been little more than a pinprick.

 

Shrugging off his lingering fear he secured the pocket, steeled his nerve and turned his back on the basement, climbing the stairs slowly. He fought the urge to run, banishing the thoughts of things reaching out for him in the shadows; hands that were all but fleshless, faces that followed with sunken skin and mouths that hungered for his blood. He refused to look back and give into the irrational fear, his hands clenched and jaw locked, but it was only once he had reached the top of the staircase that he extinguished the lights below.

 

So he didn’t see the hand, wasted and desiccated, that curled around the doorframe, just as the lights went out.


	4. A Change of Décor

Hermione pushed the door closed and leant against it, head bowed in exhaustion. She blindly threw her keys onto the table and placed a hand on her forehead, feeling all her tension trying to push its way through the front of her skull.

 

It was done; all the interviews, all the paperwork, all the annoyance. Just like that. Nearly two weeks and the divorce was on its way, no telling how long it would be before it was finalised but she had done her part. Spoken to the papers, to her lawyers… the whole world seemed to want a piece of this story and she was fed up and tired.

 

This last meeting had been the worst of the lot. Ron had gotten angry and aggressive over Rose and Hugo; he was determined to get full custody, saying that he would cut her out of their lives, if he got the chance. His lawyer had had to physically restrain him at one point and Hermione was not sure that Ron would not have leapt over the table at her!

 

“Hey hey, there she is!” George’s voice was bright and cheerful and shot a lance of pain through the exhausted witch’s brain. Wincing, she waved her hand at the tall red-head as he bounced towards her, holding an excited Hugo in his arms.

 

“MUMMY! HELLO MUMMY!” The toddler struggled in George’s arms, trying to get to Hermione and the tall man had to fight to keep hold of him.

 

“He’s a lively one today, Hermione!” George gave up, lowering the boy to the ground and letting him run to his mum. The little boy wrapped his arms around the witch’s trouser leg and hugged tightly as Hermione stroked his bright red hair, a pained smile on her face. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, George. Just… very tired.”

 

“Basement door’s been fitted,” the smiling man said, gesturing to the new, wooden door that had been fitted, at the _top_ of the stairway this time. “How’s Theo doing?” It still surprised Hermione that the twins asked after Theo, genuinely concerned about the man that Hermione had taken into her bed after over fourteen years with Ron, seven of which they had been married. The fact that she had done it whilst still _with_ Ron, never seemed to concern them overly much.

 

Maybe it did, but they refused to let her see it; the twins were a law unto themselves and had taken it upon themselves to act as some kind of intermediary between Hermione and the Weasley family. Maybe it was because they had gone to school with her, that they had a friendship that went beyond the boundaries of the family she had married into. If that was it, it wasn’t a sentiment the rest of the family shared. When the affair had first come to light Hermione had lost Ginny as a friend and had no chance of getting her back. Molly and Arthur had remained polite but distant, if only for the children’s sake. The other brothers lived overseas for most of the year now, so contact with them was limited, but even they had been cold. She knew that her mother-in-law had advised Ron to cut his losses and just divorce her, but he had taken her back again.

 

And she had continued to cheat on him. It had been the final straw for the motherly woman; Molly and Hermione had not spoken for several months now. She still saw the children when Ron had them, but she refused to talk to their mother. Even Arthur could only look at her with hurt and disappointment in his eyes.

 

Hermione smiled at George and answered him. “He was awake today and the mediwizards say he’s getting better. They’re more confident that they can save the hand.”

 

“Good.” George said with a smile. “A man needs his right hand!”

 

“Or left.” Fred popped his head around the living room door, red hair spiked in all directions and full of multi-coloured paint. “Never know which hand a man prefers to use for…”

 

“Stop, right now! My kids are here and I don’t think I’m in any condition to think about Theo…”

 

“What?” Fred glanced around, innocently. “I was gonna say ‘washing with’. What were you thinking, you naughty girl?” He ruined the moment by winking at George and sniggering.

 

“Alright, enough. I’m in too much pain to deal with you two tonight.” She thought of Theo, laid up at St Mungo’s, with his hand constantly being prodded and probed with magical spells.

 

The tiny wound from the splinter had quickly turned septic, causing him to collapse at work the next day and be carted off to St Mungo’s with a suspected poisoning of the blood. The initial diagnosis was exactly that, but the poison had resisted all attempts to remove it. The skin had begun to blacken, starting on his palm around the wound and had begun to creep up his arm as the days went on. Sweats and shivering led to eventual unconsciousness and Theo was in a coma for a few days while mediwizards and specialist Healers worked frantically at finding a way of reversing the affliction.

 

When he finally came round, a week later, an old Healer had been called out of retirement and, together, they had managed to halt the spread; they had been forced to debride the flesh from most of his forearm in order to find the infection and, from there, they had been able to force it backwards. There had been doubt that the hand would be salvageable but the recent prognosis had been more favourable and they now expected Theo to recover fully. There was still debate over exactly what had caused the infection and the Auror office was liaising with St Mungo’s Healers over the splinter that had caused the wound initially. The old Healer that had been called in had specialist knowledge that had been vital, but they had been unwilling to share that knowledge with her as she was not family. She got the impression that the old Healer was reluctant to get involved for some reason.

 

Today Theo had finally been coherent enough to talk, though he refused to look towards his hand, even though it was shielded from his sight by a magical screen. He was expecting to be updated on his condition, meeting with the old Healer, later that day. His people at the office had left him a message to say that they were making progress on the door; they had rebuilt large chunks but it was slow going due to its nature. Apparently it was resisting their attempts to put it back together using magical means. They were checking pieces by hand – wearing heavy gloves, of course – and putting the door back together one bit at a time.

 

Hermione gave herself a shake as she wondered when Theo would be able to leave hospital. Her feelings for the dark haired wizard were complicated. She definitely lusted after him, but he was kind and tender, caring in a way that made her feel very special, but she had never thought of him as someone she wanted long term.

 

Ron had never been a terrible husband but he had, after Rose had been born, started to almost distance himself. He began to stop treating her as if she was his partner and more like she was merely of a nursemaid for their daughter. They had had tender moments and Hugo had been a surprise—a pleasant one—but it had done nothing for their relationship; if anything it had put even more strain on it.

 

The fateful meeting had come at the Annual Auror’s Ball, when Ron had stormed out in a huff—she couldn’t even remember why anymore—leaving her alone. One Theodore Nott had been quick to dry her tears and cheer her up. She had been completely swept up by his charm and kind nature. One thing led to another and one hot and sweaty mistake later, she was having an affair.

 

Theo had originally tried to resist the affair—for all that he had participated willingly in their first encounter—not wanting her to ruin her marriage, to do something she would regret, but Hermione had been… persuasive. The affair had lasted all of six months, until Ron had discovered them together. There had been anger, promises, recriminations, forgiveness. But, for some reason, she had been unable to give the dark haired man up and had ended up in his bed time and time again.

 

The next time they were caught out there had been a fight and, while Hermione screamed at them to stop, the two men’s verbal assault had degenerated into a fist fight, Ron throwing the first punch. It had taken several of their Auror colleagues to pull the two wizards apart.

 

It had been the final straw for Ron and it was all over, much to Molly’s satisfaction.

 

Hermione shook her head free of the memories; the way Ron had been acting recently had made Hermione realise that maybe she was better off away from the red-haired man and his violent outbursts! Theo was strong minded and stubborn occasionally, but she had never felt she was in danger from him. Maybe he _was_ good for her, after all.

 

This passed through her mind swiftly and she smiled at George again. “How were the kids? Did they behave for you?”

 

“Yes, Mummy!" Rose’s voice floated out of the lounge and Hermione smiled. “But don’t come in yet!” The smile vanished instantly and she glared at the twins.

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” George made placating gestures as Fred grimaced and vanished into the lounge again.

 

Ignoring their words the bushy haired witch stepped into the lounge. Her steps were hampered with a giggling Hugo, still clamped to her leg. The first thing she noticed was the various paintings and drawings, scattered around the room. Rose had clearly been busy!

 

Then she saw Fred over by the patio doors and the state of the wall behind him. Rose was frantically washing the wall with a cloth but Hermione could still see the huge picture that was smudged across the paint. She could see that there were large gouges in the wall, presumable made by the letter opener lying next to Rose’s paints. The last time she had seen the letter opener it had been in her study, which she had finally got sorted out.

 

“Rose Weasley!” Her daughter jumped a foot in the air and gave a little scream, spinning to face Hermione but unable to meet her eyes.

 

“I didn’t mean to, Mum! Honest!” Rose’s voice was shrill and rapid, forcing Hermione to close her eyes as her headache threatened to split her head open. “We ran out of paper and, when Uncle Fred said he’d get some more for me, the little man told me it’d be okay for me to paint on the walls! He said that you’d be fine with it!”

 

Hermione just cocked her head to one side, raising an eyebrow in disbelief before dropping it again as it increased her pain. “The ‘little man’ again, Rose?”

 

George piped up at this point. “See, I thought we were going to blame me; that I said you could do it. Far more believable, in my opinion…”

 

“It’s true!” Rose’s eyes were filling with tears as she stomped her foot in frustration. Clearly this conversation had been happening for a while. “Why won’t you believe me that there is a little man here, Uncle George?”

 

“Because it is ridiculous, Rose!” Hermione planted her fists on her hips and glared at the little girl, whose bottom lip stuck out as far as it would go. “There’s no little man here, other than Hugo. And he can’t talk properly yet. Go to your room, I’m not having this conversation with you again. There is _no_ little man and you need to stop trying to use that as an excuse for your behaviour! I’ll deal with this… mess. Paint is one thing, but the letter opener?”

 

“But, Mummy, _he_ did that!”

 

“GO!” Hermione pointed out of the room, anger seething through her.

 

Rose threw the cloth on the floor and flounced out of the room and up the hall, muttering to herself. “Bet Daddy would let me paint on the walls!” Luckily for the little girl only George heard this parting shot, as Hermione was already moving to the wall.

 

“So, any excuses or snappy remarks to make, lads?” Hermione wasn’t looking at them, her hands on her hips, glaring at the smudged painting and damage to the wall, her expression thunderous. “Don’t even think of trying to sneak out George!” Hermione didn’t even look around as she pointed behind her, directly at the red-head as he started to sidle away.

 

“Okay, look, we ballsed up here, Hermione. George was changing Hugo upstairs, I went to get more paper for Rose…”

 

“I come back in with this little terror.” George scooped Hugo up off of the ground and threw him over his shoulder, holding him in place as the little boy squealed with laughter. “Rose had already used the letter opener on the wall, I guess by accident…”

 

“She’s gouged three large holes in my wall, George! Three! The first one would be an accident, the second I could pass off as curiosity and mischief. Three is deliberate!”

 

“Okay, but we were trying to encourage her magic after that.” George put Hugo down and the little boy ran off at top speed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and yelling for Rose.

 

Fred stood and headed towards the hall, talking over his shoulder as he went. “We figured that she’d be scared.”

 

“Like she was a couple of weeks back.” George flicked his wand and Hugo’s favourite toy, a large stuffed monkey in a green t-shirt, flew through the air. Fred caught it without looking and used it to distract Hugo from the stairs, luring him back to the lounge.

 

“Then her magic would come again and help her repair the wall.” Fred stepped into the room again, allowing George to step to the side and grab Hugo, lifting him up and holding him in the air. Hugo grabbed his uncle’s face, laughing hysterically as George’s fingers tickled the little boy’s ribs.

 

Hermione just watched the pair of them easily distract Hugo, play with him and continue a normal conversation with her. It amazed her how easily the pair of them worked together without a word spoken between them, they each knew what they intended, where the other would be and switched seamlessly.

 

“You two…” Hermione shook her head and laughed. “Have you ever thought of running a crèche? Seriously, if you two ever find a woman who can handle both of you together then you’d be the best dads in the world!”

 

“You asking for the job, Hermione?” Fred leered at her, before winking.

 

“I don’t think I have the patience for both of you!”

 

“Oh, but she’s not refusing outright, Fred!”

 

“I noticed that too, George. Hope for us yet!”

 

“One of us, at least.”

 

“Maybe if we promised to switch, every other day?”

 

“That’d work I think.”

 

“Yeah, I’d be happy with that.”

 

“Mum always said to share…”

 

Hermione waved her hands, fighting a dose of the giggles. “Stop it, now! That’s _totally_ inappropriate. My son’s right there!”

 

“So if Hugo was over…” George inclined his head at the hallway.

 

“No!”

 

“Worth a try, wasn’t it Fred?”

 

“No harm in checking, was there George?”

 

“If you two are quite finished?” Hermione knew to take the two of them with a pinch of salt but sometimes she wondered just what they thought about.

 

“Don’t worry about the wall, Hermione.” Fred took his wand out and advanced on the damaged wall, all business again. George joined him, leaving Hermione to give Hugo a hug as the boy ran up to her.

 

“We’ll take care of it. Plan failed but it was worth a try.”

 

Hermione crossed her arms and watched as George easily filled in the holes with a white substance, scooped out of a pot that had been in his pocket. “So, has Rose been punished in any way?”

 

“Merlin, no!” Fred looked shocked and indignant as he waved his wand and the viscous substance solidified instantly. “We’re Cool Uncle Fred and George! We don’t do punishment!”

 

“ _We_ let them get away with the stuff that _you’d_ tell them off for.”

 

“That way _we_ continue to be cool.”

 

“And you and Ron end up the bad guys.”

 

“It’s kind of in the job description, you know?”

 

“You can’t fight the system, Hermione. Sorry.” George finished the wall with a fresh coat of magic that stripped Rose’s picture from the wall cleanly. The paper-thin painting was then crumpled into a ball and vanished with a pop. Fred changed the colour of the repaired sections with a tap of his wand, blending them seamlessly with the existing paintwork.

 

“On the plus side though…” George twirled his wand between his fingers and a box began to materialise. It was covered in bright red, glittery paper, tied with a golden bow. Once it was solid George floated it over towards the bemused witch. “We come bearing gifts for you and the kids. Well, mainly the kids.”

 

“And what’s this for? Apologies for letting my daughter run riot with a letter opener.” She had a smile on her face to show was only joking but, despite that, was still a little wary of opening a present from these two. There was no telling what it would do.

 

“Just open it.” Fred leant on his brother’s shoulder, grinning insolently at the concern in Hermione’s eyes. “Consider it a first Christmas present, from the two best looking red-headed twins ever.”

 

“If this burns my eyebrows off, there _will_ be blood. Just so we’re clear on this!”

 

“Just open it!” they both said in unison.

 

Pulling the bow and letting it unravel and drop, Hermione flipped the lid in one smooth motion, wincing slightly in expectation. Inside the box was a soft glowing light that slowly grew in intensity. Delicate, thin tendrils of warm mist lifted from the box, caressing Hermione’s face.

 

“Just think of how you want this place to look for Christmas, Hermione.” Fred was smiling as he spoke, confident and sure but Hermione noticed that George had a hint of tension around the eyes, even as he nodded encouragingly.

 

“Just really see it in your mind, Hermione. Close your eyes and focus on the look; feel what you want.”

 

Hermione decided to trust them. After all, they tested all their products on themselves; they wouldn’t give her something that they weren’t certain of. Then again, George’s face…

 

Closing her eyes Hermione pictured the house, complete with the tree and decorations she wanted. She thought about it with all her heart, really felt it and the box grew warm in her hands. In her mind’s eye red, green and gold dominated; the classic colours. The tree dripped with fairy lights and glowed with light, a golden star perched atop a beautiful creation of tinsel and baubles. Picture frames had decorations of evergreen boughs and pine cones, perched on the corners. Each one was covered in glitter and golden ribbons. The staircase balustrades were wrapped in red and gold ribbon, fairy lights and shining baubles lighting each step.

 

Throughout the house, Hermione imagined Christmas had arrived in all its glory. She managed to rein it back from overly gaudy in many places, retaining a tasteful but fun atmosphere for the kids. Her own room she left only sparsely decorated, though a stray cheeky thought, added a sprig of mistletoe above the bed. Hugo and Rose’s rooms were the embodiment of fun with bright colours and beautiful pictures.

 

There was a shout of surprise from upstairs; Rose. Hermione’s eyes snapped open and she stopped, stunned at the sight that greeted her.

 

The box in her hands was dark and empty, just a simple cardboard box. All around her though were the decorations from her imagination, all in place exactly as she had seen it. Hugo stood in front of her, his mouth wide open as he turned on the spot, trying to take it all in.

 

“Mummy… crick-criss…” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper of awe. He turned and Hermione smiled at him, loving the way he said ‘Christmas’. Crouching down she enveloped him in a massive hug as he yelled in her ear. “CRICK-CRISS!!”

 

She mimed “thank you” at the twins, tears in her eyes. The pair of them grinned at her and then shook hands with each other, both looking very pleased with themselves.

 

“Forgiven?” At Hermione’s nod, Fred grinned and they both left the room, talking quietly about the result, no doubt already seeing improvements that could be made.

 

A clatter of footsteps on the stairs produced a running Rose who burst into the lounge, grinning from ear to ear. “Mummy! Christmas just threw up in my _room_!!”

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

It was only four days till Christmas, a week after Fred and George’s present had decorated the house.

 

Hermione had lived through events that had threatened to end the magical world and, occasionally, still had nightmares about the War and the reign of terror Lord Voldemort had tried to bring about. She had seen a real threat to the end of the world and had not only survived it, but had fought to prevent it.

 

The rush of Christmas was not a problem. After what she had been through, there was nothing that could shake her anymore.

 

Before the weekend was out, however, Hermione would be ready to re-evaluate that opinion.


	5. Of Nightmares and Promises

Hermione held onto to Hugo with all her strength, the little boy kicking and screaming in her arms. Her hands were holding on to his armpits and his mouth was a wide circle as he screamed louder and louder.

 

Ron held his legs and was yelling just as loudly, ranting about Theo and the divorce, an article that had been published in The Prophet about the affair. His face was flushed and spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled. He called her an unfit mother, using the children as a weapon against him, poisoning their minds.

 

Hermione was just as vocal, calling him on his awful behaviour that had driven her into the arms of another man, his need for someone to mother him almost. He put his job before the children, leaving her to care for them while still trying to hold down a job. It was a gross exaggeration of the facts, but she couldn't stop the words coming out.

 

Crookshanks yowled in the background, raising his voice in protest at the anger, at the fighting. Hugo, caught between his parents, cried and yelled, trying to get away as he was slowly dragged towards the patio doors. Ron had one foot out of the house and was pulling harder now. Hermione was sure that this was hurting Hugo but couldn’t bear to let go, determined to win this fight.

 

“Mummy!” Rose called to Hermione, forcing the older woman to look around at her daughter. The little girl stooped and picked up the letter opener, holding it in her fist, outstretched towards the door. “Mummy, the little man dropped it! Look!”

 

She ran forward and Hermione could see what was going to happen but her throat closed up in terror. Rose ran forwards, even as Hermione managed to squeak a warning. It was too little, too late as Rose’s foot caught on her craft set, tripping her and making her stumble. The young girl tucked her arms under herself, trying to halt her fall.

 

It brought the point of the letter opener underneath the girl as she fell. Her elbows struck the ground first and she plunged down, inertia driving the blade through the underside of her chin.

 

Hermione screamed in denial as a gush of blood flowed from the terrible wound, soaking the carpet in front of the girl. She lay still and unmoving even as Hermione stumbled towards the patio door, pulled off balance by Ron’s strength.

 

She screamed at him to stop, that Rose was hurt, but the red-head didn’t seem to hear her. He was fully out of the house now, Hugo poised between the lounge and the garden, hauling with all his strength to take his son from her. The frantic witch held on, even though she needed to go to Rose. To her side she saw a figure, lurking behind the patio door curtains; a small man with wrinkled grey skin.

 

Even as she acknowledged that he was there, he grinned and threw his weight against the patio door. The door slid through treacle, as time froze in a moment of true horror.

 

The door slid inexorably onwards, Hugo poised between it and the frame. Hermione couldn’t react fast enough. Ron still pulled, not seeing the danger. Hermione let go and lunged for the door. Too late.

 

Hugo was caught by the door, slammed against the frame as inertia did its deadly work. The sickening sound of the door, cutting into her son’s flesh, ripped a terrible cry from Hermione’s throat. She saw Ron tumble away, holding Hugo’s legs… the little boy still reached for her, inside the room. His screams took on a terrible wet sound but did not end, even as the door slammed shut.

 

Blood spattered against Hermione’s face and she found herself lying on her back, blinded, and plunged into sudden darkness. Something covered her body, a great pressure crushing her to the floor. Hot liquid dripped on her cheeks and ragged breathing filled her ears as she struggled to stand again.

 

Managing to regain control of her limbs, she struck out wildly at the weight on her chest, feeling something heavy impact with her arm.

 

The pressure lifted suddenly and Hermione sat bolt upright, tangled in her bed sheets, the duvet wrapped tightly around her legs. There was the sound of running in the darkness, bare feet vanishing into the distance and she thought she heard a hissing snigger of laughter.

 

Her bedroom was dark, though some light showed around the edges of the curtains. Desperately she wiped at her face, feeling liquid on her cheeks and neck. “ _Lumos!_ ” Her wand lit up on her bedside table, throwing light against the ceiling and chasing the shadows away. Her hand dripped with a clear, whitish fluid, like spittle. It was still warm and Hermione wiped her hand on the coverlet.

 

Hermione struggled out of her duvet, swinging her legs out of bed, gasping at the intensity of her nightmare. She thought of the running feet but quickly dismissed it as the last moments of her dream. The horror of what she had seen… She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Shuffling himself under the covers, Hugo grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it upwards. “Mummy, hide!” Suiting actions to words the toddler ducked below the covers and vanished from sight.

 

Hermione, on the other side of the bed, pulled the bedclothes over herself for a moment. Lifting the duvet slightly to allow light in, Hermione saw Hugo’s grinning face. With a giggle the little boy crawled up the bed towards her again, pulling the covers back down.

 

“Hide!”

 

They had been playing this game for the last ten minutes, hiding under the covers and giggling together. Hugo seemed to enjoy hiding in the bed – or behind the curtains – and then giggling when Hermione called that she was coming to find him. He was definitely not ninja material! He also liked Hermione to hide with him, getting upset if she didn’t actually get in the bed with him when he was hiding.

 

Hermione was feeling much better now. It was the afternoon and the last vestiges of her nightmare had begun to fade. She still felt a frisson of fear whenever her mind conjured up any moment from the dream but most of the details had begun to fade. She had figured out quickly enough what had caused her nightmare; Ron’s attempt to take the children from her, to get full custody; the fear of losing her children; Rose and her ‘little man’ stories; the drama and the stress of the last few weeks. It had all combined into that terrible dream. The spittle on her face was a niggling concern, but she kept putting it aside; she had resolved to spend the day playing with her children, to try and get the awful thoughts out of her head as much as possible.

 

Hugo wriggled down the bed and Hermione lifted the covers a little to let the light in again. In the gloom under the duvet Hermione saw her son. He looked up and his eyes opened as wide as they could go, staring at Hermione; not _at_ her, but at a point just past her shoulder. Turning to look Hermione saw nothing, but felt the little boy move rapidly. Hermione sat up, pushing the covers down as Hugo dropped off the bottom of the bed and scooted away on his bottom, moving backwards until his back hit the wardrobe doors.

 

“What’s wrong, darling?” His face was pale, breathing rapid and he was still staring just over her shoulder. Hermione determinedly didn’t look again. “What is it, sweetheart?”

 

“All done, Mummy. All done!” Hugo hugged his knees, pulling them up to his chest and resting his forehead on them. Hermione climbed out of bed, moving to comfort him and the little red-head threw himself into her arms. “All done!” He pointed, almost desperately, at the door to the bedroom. “See Rose? Mummy, Rose?”

 

“Do you want to go and see what Rose is up to?” Hermione was confused by the youngster’s behaviour, especially as he continued to refuse to look at the bed.

 

“Yes please, Mummy.” Hugo glanced at the bed and swiftly buried his face into her shoulder again. Hermione looked, despite herself, glad not to see anything but was starting to let her imagination get the better of her now. Quickly she carried Hugo away from the room, heading downstairs.

 

She passed Crookshanks, the large cat stalking his way upstairs, belly low to the ground. He had the look of being on the hunt and Hermione guessed that he was hunting some poor fuzzy creature. He would find it too; the half-Kneazle was an amazing hunter. Hardly any vermin ever got anywhere near the house without Crooks sniffing them out and dealing with them.

 

Hermione was starting to get concerned about her children and this house; over the last few days a number of strange things had been happening. The incident with Theo had been tragic but that had been put down to residual magic that had occurred in the property many years ago. Hermione had taken the silver needle that she had found, outside the basement door, and the team had added it to the items to be examined.

 

The children had been acting strangely at times too, not just Hugo’s reaction today. Hermione had also seen a few things herself that had her jumping at shadows. She would have seriously considered leaving, if she had had anywhere else she could have gone with the kids, that is.

 

Yesterday she had been washing up when her little boy had wandered in, smiling and happy, chatting away to her about biscuits and Christmas. Later, she had told him. He could have a biscuit after his dinner she decided and Hugo seemed okay with that too.

 

He had looked up at the wind chime, hanging in the kitchen window; it wasn’t new, but one that Hermione had found in the garden one day. She had cleaned it up and found it quite interesting. The top, a triangular stone, carved with strange symbols—nothing magical, Hermione had determined—that looked similar to the ones Muggles used to use to invite helpful spirits in, many years ago. Superstitious nonsense but it looked nice, and helpful spirits couldn’t hurt, considering what they were all going through!

 

Hugo lifted his arms to Hermione. “Up, Mummy? Up?”

 

Hermione had dried her hands on her new Christmas themed towel and lifted the boy, reaching out and touching the pendulum that hung below the chime. As her fingers moved it, allowing it to tinkle musically against the various tubes, a delicate music filled the kitchen. Hugo began to struggle, trying to get out of Hermione’s arms. “All done, Mummy!”

 

Hermione had immediately stilled the wind chime, placing her son on the floor again. The frightened looking red-head had sidled his way behind Hermione’s legs, hugging them and peering around her thigh, large blue eyes gazing up at the wind chime. “What’s the matter, Hugo? It’s just a wind chime, sweetheart.”

 

Hugo then buried his face in her leg, his voice muffled and sad. “All done, Mummy. No more.”

 

Confused, Hermione had looked up at the wind chime and saw, reflected in the kitchen window, a man, stood in the doorway behind her. Spinning to look, half expecting Theo or one of the twins, Ron even, she had found the doorway empty. Hugo had immediately begun to cry, climbing her leg frantically.

 

It had taken some time to calm the boy down. The witch’s own nerves had taken a bit of a beating too. The man had been shorter than her, maybe four foot tall, maybe a little less… a little man.

 

Rose had not been immune to strangeness. A few days ago Hermione had found another set of gouges in the wall, this time in the upper corridor between Rose’s room and Hugo’s; four long lines, parallel to each other, cut into the plasterboard. There was no sign of a letter opener but that didn’t stop Hermione banning Rose from using her craft set for a month, taking the box away and locking it in her room. Rose had been distraught, vehement in her insistence that it wasn’t her. Unfortunately for Rose she, again, blamed ‘the little man’ as being the culprit.

 

With the incident in the kitchen yet to happen, Hermione hadn’t believed that there was an invisible little man, roaming the house, cutting grooves in the wall and trying to get Rose in trouble. The little girl had sulked for a few days afterwards and, surprisingly, stuck to her story that it wasn’t her.

 

For the most part though, Rose had been poorly a lot. Over the last week she had had a terrible cold and had once come down with a fever. The shivering and sweating had only lasted the night but it had left the girl pale and weak the next morning. Her mother wondered if it was her magic, finally pushing its way through whatever resistance the girl had in her and requested a mediwizard come and check her over in the morning. Hermione had let the girl sleep in with her, cuddling her through the night, barely able to sleep herself. She stroked the girl’s hair and felt her tremble and shiver, teeth chattering and lips blue, even as her skin burned to the touch.

 

Hermione had woken in the morning to find Rose sleeping peacefully; the girl was pale and wan but the fever had broken. A mediwizard had come to the house, at Hermione’s request, and checked her over but could find nothing wrong; certainly nothing to do with her magic, which, the wizard said, appeared to still be mostly dormant. At worst, he said, the girl needed to eat more liver; she was weak and pale and needed more iron. Rose had gagged at the pronouncement, staring fearfully at Hermione as the older witch nodded in agreement to the wizard from St Mungo’s. As they turned to leave, Rose sighed with relief as her mum shook her head and grimaced, sticking out her tongue at the little girl, behind the mediwizard’s back.

 

Now, she found Rose in the lounge, the television on; some highly colourful cartoon was blaring out its quirky music whilst unusual figures danced to the tune. The fairy lights on the tree twinkled brightly and cast a cheery Christmas glow over everything. The tinsel in the windows swayed in the slight breeze, coming from the half opened window and Hermione smiled at the cheerful scene.

 

The little girl was drawing again, and though she seemed healthy and strong, she was still very pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She had woken up screaming again last night, a common occurrence these days. The poor girl seemed to be suffering from terrible nightmares, possibly a result of all the upheaval, the fright from the other night when Hugo had wandered downstairs. She knew about the divorce too – Hermione couldn’t _not_ tell her, it wasn’t fair to leave her in the dark over the future. She was old enough to ask questions, and had been too!

 

In truth, the bad dreams had affected Hermione too, though this latest one was the worst yet. Several times she had awoken, her heart pounding with a terror that she couldn’t identify, her chest aching as if something had been pressing down on it. Shadows had held monsters and she had felt like a child once more, terrified of the strange shapes on her wall. More than once she had turned on her light, just to reassure herself that the shape in the corner _was_ only her work robes, or books, or something other than a hideous creature that wished her ill.

 

Hermione, not yet noticed by her daughter, took a closer look at the picture as the girl worked. It was an accurate depiction of the house, seen from the front with a large black cloud settled over the top. There were figures in the windows; Hugo and Rose in the lounge windows, easily identified by their size; Hermione, with very bushy hair, was in the bedroom window holding Crookshanks. The girl was just drawing more people, stood outside the front door of the house. She quickly outlined two identical men and a man with dark hair, the latter laying on the path, next to the twins. She assumed that it was meant to be Fred, George and Theo.

 

Hermione was just about to question her when Rose picked up the red crayon and added far more of it than the witch was expecting – starting with the ground underneath Theo and the front of picture-Hermione’s shirt. She couldn’t help the gasp of shock when the girl then started to colour picture-Hugo in with the colour, almost obscuring him with the bright red crayon.

 

Rose, suddenly aware of her mother’s presence, jumped with fright and gave a small scream, startling Hugo who had been lost in his own thoughts.

 

“Rose, sorry sweetheart. Are you okay?” Hermione knelt, setting Hugo down and watching as he wandered up to the television, suddenly enraptured by the bright colours. “What are you drawing?”

 

“Just the house…” Rose stared at the picture, suddenly seeming a little nervous, almost confused about it.

 

Hermione leant forward, a knot forming in her stomach, looking at the picture in more detail. “So who’s in this one then, darling?”

 

“That’s Uncle Fred and George with Mister Nott, outside. Mister Nott fell over and was hurt so Uncle George is going to help him.” Rose calmly pointed to the figures, Hermione breathing a little easier: the scenario sounded perfectly reasonable and probably a product of her first meeting with Theo. “That’s you upstairs, with Crookshanks… he’s been a naughty cat and had to be punished, the little man said so.”

 

Hermione felt her blood go cold at this pronouncement, the girl’s voice shifting to a cold, flat monotone. “Rose…”

 

“Me and Hugo are downstairs, where it’s safe. The basement is where they keep _her_ … it’s not safe down there. I don’t draw the basement…”

 

“Rose, stop it…”

 

“I have to keep Hugo safe… because the little man wants him, to give to _her_ … so she can walk again.”

 

Hermione’s scalp was crawling with fear now as her daughter turned haunted eyes towards her; the afternoon sunshine limned her eyes, making the blood in them all the brighter. The girl blinked and streaks of bright red plunged down her cheeks, her rasping whisper chilling the witch’s bones. “We are all going to die…”

 

“Rose!” Hermione caught her daughter, as the girl’s eyes rolled upwards, fluttered closed and she slumped to the side. “Rose!! Oh, Merlin!” Desperately she pulled her wand and attempted to summon her Patronus, intending on sending for help. Blue sparks flew from her wand but her panic prevented the otter from fully forming, managing only a few, weak steps before dissipating. The cheerful Christmas decorations seemed to mock her now, laughing at her for having dared to be happy.

 

Pulling the limp girl into her arms, calling to Hugo - who was still staring at the television - Hermione staggered towards the front door.

 

There was a knocking, just as the frightened witch stumbled into the hall. A shadow moved, the silhouette filling the glass at the top and a blessedly familiar voice called her name.

 

“George, help me!” Her panicked scream produced an instant result. The front door burst open as one of the twins yelled “ _Portaberto_!”, the lock burning through and vanishing in an instant of green fire. The two men tumbled through the door, wands held aloft and ready to strike. As Fred checked one direction, George was already coming to meet Hermione.

 

“Hermione! What happened?” George gently lifted the girl out of the witch’s arms, crouching down and running his wand over her, scanning for injuries. “Why is her face covered in blood? What’s wrong with her?”

 

“I… I don’t know! She was talking strangely and then suddenly… fainted!”

 

“Fred! I’m taking Rose to St Mungo’s, stay with Hermione.”

 

“You got it! We’ll follow on in a bit.” Fred moved over, helping Hermione to stand, wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her close. “It’s alright, Hermione. We’re here now.”

 

“I have to go with Rose…” There was a sharp, whip crack report as George turned on the spot and Disapparated, carrying her daughter away.

 

“Not yet you don’t, you’ve got Hugo to think of. You’re in no condition to Apparate anywhere just yet. You’ll not do Rose any favours if you splinch yourself all over the hospital foyer!” The tall man led her towards the lounge, pushing her down onto the sofa before heading for the kitchen. “You just sit there for a moment while I get you a cup of tea. We’ll follow George and Rose in a bit.”

 

Hermione sighed, staring out of the lounge door and tried to calm her shaking hands. What was going on here? Blood, real blood, spackled the picture that Rose had been drawing and tears formed in Hermione’s eyes. She choked back a sob, covering her mouth with her hand and staring at the picture.

 

A sudden shout from the hall snapped Hermione’s head up in panic. It was Hugo. He was no longer in the lounge.

 

“Rose!? Where are you?” the little boy called.

 

“Hugo…” Hermione leapt up and dashed out of the room, barely hearing Fred’s voice calling after her. “Hugo, Mummy’s coming! Where are you?”

 

Her hair streamed out behind her as she scrambled up the stairs, her breath gasping from her open mouth. Hugo continued to call for his sister, his voice seeming to be coming from his room and Hermione staggered down the hall, calling his name. Throwing open the door she stared into the toddler’s room, her gaze casting over the toys, games and Christmas cards, scattered everywhere.

 

“Hugo?” Hermione moved into the room, stepping carefully over the various puzzle pieces, aeroplanes and cars that decorated the floor. “Sweetheart… where are you?”

 

Silence.

 

“Hermione?” Fred stepped into the room, wand in hand. “Where’s Hugo, did you find him?”

 

“No, I don’t know where he is, Fred!”

 

“It’s okay. We’ll find him, come on.” Fred took her hand and Hermione felt a surge of feeling rush through her, a sense of safety and security that she hadn’t felt for a while.

 

Together they searched the upper floor, pulling open doors in a hurry, looking inside cupboards and behind curtains. Hugo remained quiet and Hermione felt the dread and terror begin to creep over her and her search took on a frantic edge.

 

She burst into her own room and almost collapsed in relief, Fred steadying her as she stumbled. “Oh, thank Merlin for that!” she muttered, stepping towards the bed.

 

The lump in the middle of the bed jiggled and there was a giggle. Hugo’s skills at hiding hadn’t improved any, Hermione thought to herself with a relieved sigh.

 

“Hermione…” Fred muttered, concern in his eyes, as she stepped closer.

 

“Why are you hiding, Hugo, darling? It’s okay, Mummy and Uncle Fred are here.” She reached the bed and was seized with a sudden fear; indecision gripping her heart as she stared at the lump. Clearly it was Hugo, hiding in the bed, as he always did. Why was she so scared suddenly?

 

Her hand shook as she reached out and she heard Fred shift behind her. Her hand touched the bedding, intending on giving the boy a little shake or a tickle, to let him know that she had ‘found him’… but she felt the material was damp and clammy to the touch. Her fingers came away wet, tinged with pink at the tips. She felt her throat close up as a scream tried to force its way out of her.

 

Fred grabbed her arms and pulled her back, waving his wand at the bed. The covers leapt backwards, flying into the corner of the room. It wasn’t Hugo in the bed.

 

Crookshanks lay on his back, legs in the air and his head arched back. His last snarl was fixed on his face and his claws were extended, as if he had been fighting something when he had died. The gaping wound that was his stomach sagged open, like an old leather bag that couldn’t support itself anymore. The flesh hung outwards, the pink and purple entrails draped over the sides and spread out across the bed. A wide circle of blood surrounded the cat and the sprig of mistletoe that had been hung over the bed, was now resting within the cavity of the cat’s stomach, like a sick joke.

 

Hermione gave a cry of revulsion and denial, burying her face in Fred’s shoulder, revolted and relieved at the same time. It was horrifying, but it wasn’t Hugo. She could hear Fred’s heart, pounding with an equal measure of the fear the witch felt. Where was her son?

 

The door to the bedroom slammed closed and they both gave a start, the witch screaming and Fred swearing, as they spun away from the closed portal. “What the fuck is going on here!?” Fred wrenched open the door again and Hermione pushed past him, shrieking Hugo’s name.

 

Together they dashed downstairs, seeing a flash of movement in the lounge that spurred them on. Just inside the door however they both stopped again, fear chilling their hearts. Hermione looked around the room; the TV was still on, Rose’s drawing lay where it had fallen, and someone was hiding behind the curtains by the patio doors. They twitched, much as they did when Hugo was trying to hide.

 

The faint giggle from that direction lifted the hair on the back of Hermione’s neck. Pointing her wand, the witch ripped the curtains from their hangings, throwing them across the room.

 

The area was empty.

 

“MUMMY!”

 

Hugo’s scream nearly lifted Hermione off the ground. She fell to the floor as the little boy threw himself out from behind the sofa and launched into her arms. His face was wet with tears and the front of his jeans were soaked in a dark, spreading patch.

 

“Hugo, Hugo, my baby, you’re alright! Are you okay, my love?” Hermione continued to almost babble, her little boy equally incoherent as he sobbed into her shoulder.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

It was several minutes before Hermione had calmed Hugo down enough to talk to him sensibly. She couldn’t get much sense out of him though, the boy unable to answer her questions properly with his limited language skills. Eventually though the boy seemed happy and settled, his jeans changed and dry once more.

 

At one point he made as if to run off again, dashing away from Hermione and hiding behind the sofa again. The distraught woman chased him down and hauled him out, holding him tight as he giggled and struggled in her grip.

 

“No sweety, you’ve got to stay where Mummy can see you now! No more running off, okay.” Hugo nodded and Hermione placed him down, watching as the boy moved to watch the television. She ran a tired hand through her hair, trying to gather her wits after the intensity of the last few minutes.

 

Fred returned from the kitchen then, bearing a cup of tea. “Okay, we’ll have to worry about Crooks’ body later. Merlin, I’m sorry Hermione. I’ve checked the house, but there’s no sign of anyone else in here but us. I have no idea what happened to him… Okay, nice and slowly now, tell me what happened with Rose. I’ll need to update George soon.” The red-head sat down next to Hermione, pressing the tea into her hands.

 

Hermione started to tell Fred what had happened, slowly finding herself relaxing as his presence and the tea soothed her fried nerves. Partway through the conversation Fred reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of thick framed spectacles, settling them on his nose and tucking the arms behind his ears. He shook his head at her quizzical look, refusing to comment.

 

Instead he leant forward slightly; his hand on her shoulder and a slight pressure brought her closer to him. There was tension around his eyes and his hand touched her cheek, lingering there. Hermione could only stare at him, realising that she was now very close and, for some reason, filled with a mad thought that he was going to kiss her!

 

He was so good; he and George both, and she genuinely loved the pair of them. They exasperated her something terrible, but there was an affection that went beyond family between them. She thought she had felt it a number of times, since her relationship with Ron had begun to break down. There was no way she wanted them, romantically, either of them… Merlin’s beard, how could she have chosen between them anyway?

 

But what about Theo? Her feelings for him were strange; she had told him that she didn’t love him, but these days, especially since his injury… she just didn’t know anymore.

 

Fred smiled slightly but shook his head, a slight distasteful twist to his lips. “We will _definitely_ have to talk about that look in your eyes, if we get through this… I really don’t think you appreciate why George and I stick around, but it’s _not_ for you.”

 

Hermione lowered her eyes in embarrassment. At least she knew now why they helped her; it’s was for their niece and nephew, nothing to do with their past. If it hadn’t been for the kids then there was every possibility that the twins would have shunned her, like the rest of the Weasley’s did. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment over just how wrong her assessment of their relationship had been! Their joking and flirting was just who they were, it didn't actually mean anything and was probably just a way of them concealing how they truly felt about her.  _An affection beyond family_ … Merlin, she felt so stupid!

 

“Hermione, I think we need to talk about Hugo now, though.” When Hermione tried to look towards the television, which the boy had been stood directly in front of for the last few minutes, Fred held her cheek firmly. She felt her heart start to pound again.

 

“Fred…”

 

“It’s okay, Hermione. I’m here…” His voice was slow and calm but Hermione could see the tension in his jaw. “However that… _thing_ … over there, pretending to watch the Muggle box, is _not_ my nephew.”


	6. Protection Detail

The sound of boot heels, tapping a staccato rhythm across the tiled floor of the ward, alerted Theo to his guest before he saw them. The dark haired man looked up as Paige Hatchett, one of his team, popped her head around the curtained divide between him and the neighbouring bed, her hair a shocking shade of pink for some reason.

 

“Knock-knock!”

 

Theo grimaced at the ridiculously cheerful greeting, shaking his head slightly as the smiling witch dropped down onto the stool next to Theo’s bed, plucking a grape from the bunch on the bedside table and popping it into her mouth. In one hand she held a bundle of papers, bound with a white ribbon; many of the sheets were out of line, coming loose and escaping the simple binding. Hatchett tucked a stray lock of her bright, pink hair behind her ear and smiled warmly at Theo.

 

“Good news, I take it?”

 

“Depends on your view of good, boss.” Paige held out the report, glancing at Theo’s hand briefly, before looking back into his eyes. She smiled and Theo was surprised that she didn’t show any revulsion at the mangled mess of skin and tendons his hand had become. The Healer said that he would have another few weeks before the flesh would be fully healed.

 

The Auror took the report and, one-handed, undid the ribbon. “And the hair?” he muttered, looking at the top page, reading through the team’s summary.

 

“Well, while the cat’s away…” she said with a cheeky smile. “Don’t worry,” she said, as Theo rolled his eyes, “I’ll change it back again tomorrow. Just having a laugh, you know. You only live once, boss!”

 

“So the door…”

 

“Was a protection device. Designed to keep something out of the area the door was guarding. It was an extremely powerful spell too.”

 

Theo sat up a little higher, flicking through a few sheets until he came to a picture of the reconstructed door. “So this was on the door? This was the picture that was scratched into the wood?”

 

“Yep.” Paige leant back, crossing one leg over the other and helping herself to another grape. “Just your classic pentagram, at first glance at least. Take a look at page six though!” She grinned as Theo’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

 

“’Cut into the door with a silver blade, made from up to nine different sources’. Nine!? What does that mean?”

 

“Just that, Theo. It means that the blade that cut that pentagram was an alloy, made up of nine different types of silver. All normal silver but we found at least nine different grades of the stuff. The potions boys were certain of it. Said that, what we had here, was a collection of different things; bracelets, jewellery and so on, all melted into one blade.”

 

“What did the Dark Arts team think?” Theo was already flicking through the report to find out what this meant to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Team. Hatchett simply waited till Theo had found the right part of the report. “Is that it?”

 

“Yes and no. As they say, at its most basic the pentagram is an old method of protection that Muggles used in the olden days; four hundred odd years ago, give or take. They believed that a pentagram protected against malevolent creatures… creatures that can cause disease…” She paused, both their eyes drifting to Theo’s hand. “…and they aren’t wrong, _if_ you can infuse it with the right sort of magic. An Elf Cross is pretty powerful, if carved with the right silver blade.”

 

“Like they did here, I guess. What else is there?” Theo asked, lifting his injured hand. “If there are creatures running around doing _this_ then something needs to be done! We need to let the Department of Regulation know, at least.”

 

“That’s where it gets interesting! We began to look deeper. Diseased hands are _nothing_!” Theo raised his eyebrows in disbelief; he was very aware that diseased hands had almost become the most important aspect of his life! Paige sat forward, pulling the report towards her and riffling through the sheets. “A fair amount of digging later…” A yellowed report was extracted and the pretty Auror began to flick through it, refreshing her memory of the details. “Turns out that, a number of years ago – about fifty or so, the records are sketchy about dates – the Auror office worked with the Regulation boys to track and kill a dangerous creature. They classified it as an elf of some kind. Not the sort that cleans your house, but an old-school elf, from ancient folklore; the sort of elf that gives Muggles nightmares… and a few wizards too, to be honest. It got a classification of quintuple X in the manual, so it’s not to be messed around with! A real wizard killer!”

 

Hatchett’s eyes were bright and shining with excitement as she pulled old photos from the report. Each one, cast in sepia tones, showed diseased limbs, ugly wounds with blackening edges and septic bite marks. The next lot of photos included bodies, several of them.

 

“Four Aurors were killed outright in the battle, two died in hospital a few days later. Turned out the elf-bitch had back up; some little creatures, trolls of some kind. Fingernails were sharp enough to cut through flesh with ease. Slit two throats before the Aurors even knew they were there. The rest of the wounds, caused by the trolls’ blowpipes, turned septic pretty quickly and were almost impossible to combat. The darts they were shooting were identical to the one that stuck you, by the way. The elf had some seriously powerful magic of her own, battling and taking out two other Aurors and paralysing one more before they could put her down and contain her and her minions.”

 

“I recognise that man!” Theo pointed to a tattered photo of a middle aged man, dressed in the robes of St Mungo’s, helping an injured Auror into a black hospital car.

 

“Yeah, he’s the Healer they called out of retirement to help save your hand. Healer Phillius Johnston, retired shortly after the incident. His magic had been sorely tested in trying to heal those injured in the fight and he needed a break. Understatement of the century!”

 

“What happened then?”

 

“Nothing.” Hatchett shrugged, popping another grape in her mouth as she dropped the photos back on the pile.

 

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Theo stared at the pile of paper on his lap. “There must have been follow ups or something?”

 

The female Auror sighed, running her fingers through her pink hair. “They couldn’t kill the elf, they could only immobilise her. Her legs were shattered in the fight and they were able to drive her down into the basement of the house, where all of this took place. The trolls were linked to her in some way and they couldn’t kill them either for some reason. They carved the Elf Cross on the door, using an alloy of silver—nine different kinds—then sealed it up with some additional magic. The house was locked up tight with wards and hexes, anti-Muggle spells and the like. I think a Fidelius was used too, but I’m not sure on that.”

 

Paige shook her head and snorted and Nott glanced at her quizzically. “Nah, it’s just ironic. If they had jammed that alloy into the elf’s brain, rather than just using it to trap her… Shame that the wizards back then didn’t really pay all that much attention to all the old Muggle legends. Ah well, not that it matters now. The creature and her little trolls were sealed in and left there to rot… end of story. No-one should accidentally find that place…”

 

A sudden bang and flash of light in the hallway, outside the ward, cut Paige off mid-sentence.

 

“I NEED HELP HERE!” Theo recognised the voice and struggled to get out of bed, gasping in pain as his hand protested the sudden movements. Paige was at his side instantly, steadying him as he stumbled.

 

“Easy there boss, you’ve been on your back for a while.”

 

“George!” Theo called out to the red-head, even as the tall man was surrounded by St Mungo’s staff. They lifted the small, limp form from his arms, placing her on a stretcher, all the time calling out instructions and demanding answers. “George, what happened? Where’s Hermione? Is that Rose…?”

 

A stern mediwitch stopped Nott moving forward, blocking his and Paige’s progress. “Mr Nott, please keep out of the way here. Go back to bed, please.”

 

“Come on boss, do as the scary lady says.” Hatchett pulled Theo away, tutting when the dark haired man pulled his arm free.

 

“I need to speak to that man that brought the girl in. She’s… she’s my… uh… my client’s daughter.”

 

“Please, Mr Nott, I read the Prophet. I _know_ who she is really.” The witch smiled slightly, though a little disapprovingly. “Go back to bed and I will speak to Mr Weasley and let him know you wish to talk.”

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

It was only a few minutes, according to the clock on the wall, but to Theo it seemed an interminable wait for the mediwitch to bring George over. Paige lounged in the chair, popping grapes into her mouth, seemingly unconcerned. Theo stood as soon as George moved towards them.

 

“George! What happened?”

 

“I don’t know, Rose had collapsed just before me and Fred got there. We were just popping over to see the kids and we heard Hermione shouting for help.”

 

“Is she going to be okay?”

 

George nodded, hands on his hips, gaze on the floor. “She’s come around but they’ve had to sedate her. She was talking about the little man following her, saying that he was going to hurt someone. She was getting frantic and fighting…”

 

Hatchett held up a hand. “Wait… this is all to do with Hermione Weasley, isn’t it? This, the door, this big ‘case’ you’ve been working on? You've been using Auror resources for your bloody fancy lady!”

 

Theo grimaced and nodded, while George looked confusedly at the Auror’s extremely pink hair. “It’s not my fault I fell head over heels in love with a married woman, Paige!”

 

“Love?” said George, with a bitter laugh. “So glad to hear that Hermione threw away her marriage for someone who loves her, at least!”

 

“Thanks, George,” Theo said, choosing to ignore the sarcasm, “but that’s not really the point. Yes, Paige, that door that you’ve been reconstructing is from the basement of the house that Hermione has recently moved into.” Theo turned to George. “We have to get them out of there, Weasley. They’re all in terrible danger!”

 

“They’re _living_ there? They shouldn’t even be able to _see_ the place! Never mind live…” Paige’s voice choked off suddenly with a gurgle and the two men spun to look.

 

Her head was pulled back, her hair being used as leverage by the grey skinned creature on the back of her chair. It was only three foot tall at most, almost completely naked, apart from black, bristly hair that covered its chest and arms. A thin, leather belt was strung around its waist, a blowpipe and a small bag hanging from it. Its hideous, twisted face grinned at the men, mouth full of sharp, yellowing teeth. Hatchett reached for the creature, her teeth gritted against the pain, as George pulled his wand and Theo lunged for his.

 

The ‘little man’ drew its talons across the woman’s exposed throat, fingernails slicing through flesh as if it was paper. Arterial spray covered the curtain surrounding Theo’s bed and Paige was shoved forwards to choke and bleed out on the hospital floor.

 

As Theo grabbed his wand, George let fly with a stunning blast; the creature leapt aside at the last minute, moving faster than the red-head thought was possible. Immediately magical alarms began to sound, splitting the air with their warning cries and George cast about, looking for the troll-like being. Theo moved around the bed, heading for Paige, his wand held ready to strike.

 

Four hospital staff and two security personnel descended upon the ward, bursting through the door; the latter immediately moved forward to restrain George who, as far as they could see, had just slit a woman’s throat and was now attempting to kill Theo Nott. George shouted at them as they grabbed him, desperately fighting and warning them about the creature. Mediwizards and witches dragged Theo and the bed out of the way, casting spells on Paige’s body to try and staunch the bleeding, attempting to save her life. Theo added his voice to George’s, yelling at the security staff to let the red-head go.

 

George yelled out a warning as he saw the troll, clambering over the bed and throwing itself at Theo’s exposed back. The long talons made a faint _swish_ through the air and the creature cackled, the sound chilling Theo’s blood as he remembered the basement. The paralysing fear washed over him again and he only had time to turn before the monster drove its sharp nails through his chest and bore him to the ground. Theo struck the ground hard, coughing and choking on the blood that suddenly filled his mouth.

 

The little man had already sprung forwards, its claws once more raised, dripping with blood and slivers of flesh. It collided with one of the security guards before the stunned wizard could raise his wand. A swipe of a vicious hand tore open the man’s throat and the troll screamed its evil laugh again as it rode the guard to the floor.

 

Suddenly released, George struck out at the creature, blasting it off of the guard and sending it spinning through the air.

 

“It’s a troll! Catch it with an electric blast!” The remaining guard was already pointing his wand at the creature as he shouted this to George, letting the blast fly. The red-head didn’t argue and sent a crackling bolt of electricity arcing through the air, following after the guard’s.

 

The troll had time to regain its feet before it was lifted into the air again, slammed against the wall by the bolts of electrical energy. Its head cracked against the stonework, spattering the clean, white paint with a sickly grey blood. The troll slid down the wall, falling to the ground limp and boneless. The guard didn’t rest, stepping forwards and enveloping the creature in a web of electricity that crackled and spat.

 

“Is it dead?”

 

“Not yet.” The guard lifted the ball of energy, troll and all, and began to constrict the electrical strands around the creature. “But it will be!” The creature shifted and began to squirm, mewling in pain as the sparking bands pressed against its flesh and the smell of burning filled the air.

 

George suddenly remembered Theo and spun around, dropping to his knees next to the stricken man. The dark haired man was still breathing, though it was shallow and rattled in his throat. The wound in his chest was deep, four neat holes to the side of his sternum. Blood bubbled from the wounds, leading George to imagine all sorts of terrible damage done to his internal organs. “Hey, Theo, hold on! Don’t you go dying here! You’re the only one that knows what the hell is going on!”

 

Theo coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. He tried to speak but couldn’t catch his breath. George shouted for the mediwizards but Theo shook his head, weakly waving a hand towards the bed, the pile of papers visible.

 

“Now’s not the time to worry about your report, Theo. Some fucking beast just perforated you!” Theo glared at George, pulling at the front of the older man’s shirt. George lowered his face, bringing it level with Theo’s mouth. The dark-haired man spoke for some time before his body betrayed him, wracking him with a choking cough that spat blood across the white tiles.

 

Suddenly George found himself pushed aside, mediwitches and wizards coming to Theo’s aid. Glancing to the side he saw the female Auror with the pink hair being carted away on a gurney, a Healer knelt at her side, wand glowing brightly as she fought to save the woman’s life. George realised that he didn’t even know her name, even though he was sure Theo had said it.

 

The guard gave a grunt of effort and George saw the cage crumple into a tiny ball, the troll having long since disintegrated within the electric prison. “Well, that got the little bastard!” The guard turned to George and waved him aside. “You stand over there, laddie. I’m gonna be needing to talk with you when this mess is sorted!”

 

The guard looked to his colleague, the one the troll had attacked, and George glanced at the mediwitch, knelt nearby. She gave a small shake of her head and the guard, with a heavy sigh, took a blanket from the bed. Closing the staring eyes first, he covered the wizard’s body.

 

The red-head watched the Healers surrounding Theo, their wands bright as they poured magic into him, trying to clear his chest and seal the wounds. He could hear them muttering to each other, talking about collapses and ruptures; it didn’t sound good but all he could hear was Theo’s instructions, the warnings he had for Hermione.

 

George watched as the dark-haired man was levitated onto a gurney, and surrounded by witches and wizards, he was rolled away from the red-head. His head was spinning at the events of the last hour… not even that; it had barely been fifteen minutes since he and Fred and arrived at Hermione’s!

 

The guard moved aside to let the gurney through, momentarily turning away from George. The flame-haired man used the distraction and pointed his wand at the report on the bed, casting a wordless summoning spell.

 

A sheet of paper ripped its way free of the report, a yellowed envelope attached to it. As it slapped into George’s hand, he cast a wordless prayer that Hugo was still alright, turned on the spot, and felt the crush of Apparition whisk him away.


	7. Ælfsiden

“No, don’t look, just listen.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hermione hissed in anger. “I can see that it’s Hugo from here!”

 

Fred tapped the glasses. “New invention, got the idea from Lovegood. Bloody things work too, more of a surprise. That, over there… I don’t know what it is. Reach into the inner pocket of my jacket, there’s another pair in there. Corner of the eyes only mind.”

 

Hermione pulled the glasses from Fred’s pocket, slipping them on and staring Fred in the eyes. At his nod she let her eyes slide to the right, tracking across the room towards the television. Her vision was slightly blurred, as if the lenses were showing a scene underwater.

 

The figure by the television had a thatch of red hair topping its head and was dressed in Hugo’s clothes, but there the resemblance ended. The… creature... was hunched, greying skin visible beneath its hair; bristly fur stuck up in clumps wherever there was bare flesh. Its arms ended in gnarled hands, ragged claw-like fingernails tipping each long finger. The nails looked sharp enough to cut into plasterboard with ease.

 

Hermione was unable to stop the cry of horror that forced its way from her throat, pulling the glasses off again. She was standing before Fred could stop her.

 

The creature spun towards the pair and gave a snarl of anger, realising that it was made, its glamour broken. As Hermione flinched back from the full force of its foulness, Fred stood and let off a blast of magic that caught the creature in the chest and knocked it back, crashing into the Christmas tree and splitting the trunk.

 

In an instant it flipped back to its feet and ran away, screeching its mad laughter. Before either of the two could react, the troll smashed through the lounge door, breaking it into pieces. Hermione gave a shout of rage and gave chase, pulling aside the remains of the door and dashing out into the hall.

 

Together they dashed past the front door, seeing the troll heading upstairs once more. The frantic witch pulled ahead of Fred who, seeing something unusual, slowed to a halt before calling for Hermione to stop.

 

She didn’t hear him, other than another noise in the background; she was so focussed on the chase. Reaching the top she sent blasts of magic down the hall after the troll, seeing it leap from side to side, clawing up the carpet and walls. It burst through the door, into Hugo’s room and slammed the door after itself.

 

Barely stopping, Hermione shouldered her way through the door and charged in, only to have the troll drop onto her shoulders from above the door. Knocked to the floor the witch struggled and fought, feeling her wand knocked from her hand, the sharp claws cutting her arm as it hit her.

 

The terrible claws were raised high when suddenly it froze, as if hit by a full body bind. Hermione struggled but the troll was still holding her in place, its strength bearing down on her chest. Despite its size, the troll was immensely strong.

 

There was a noise in the doorway to Hugo’s room and Hermione strained to see, staring up and over her shoulder as much as possible.

 

It was Ron, wand raised and pointed at the troll

 

“Ron! Ron, help me! Hugo’s missing!” Hermione gasped.

 

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” he said, angrily. His skin was blotched and red as his emotions surged. His eyes were shadowed, sunken, as if he hadn’t slept for some time, or had been ill. “Where is my son and my daughter?”

 

“Rose is at St Mungo’s, Ron. She…”

 

“Shut up, Hermione. I’m not talking to you!” Ron didn’t even look at her and the witch felt her heart leap into her throat at his next words. “Well, troll? What have you done with them?”

The creature just grinned evilly. “Girlie gone, safe… for now. Boy with _her_ … soon be gone. But _she_ … she will return!” Its voice was hideous to hear, its foul breath washed over Hermione and she gagged at the stench of rotting meat. Saliva trickled from its mouth, splashing onto Hermione’s chest and neck as it spoke, voice hissing and too many teeth making the words muffled slightly.

 

“What…? Ron, what is…”

 

“Shut _up_ , you stupid bitch!” The sickly looking red-head turned his attention back to the troll. “That was _not_ our deal! I found you, I set you free! I gave you _her_ ,” he said, pointing at Hermione. “My children were to be unharmed!”

 

The troll cocked its head. “Speak to _her_ , wizard… she likes the boy… but she may spare him… _if_ you let her have one of your brothers…? She has one now...”

 

“Done,” Ron hissed and Hermione sobbed in horror. The wizard turned to leave, but the troll’s voice stopped him again.

 

“And her…?” The troll growled, staring into Hermione’s eyes. She saw her death in them.

 

Ron looked down and Hermione was stunned at the anger and revulsion in his eyes. “Kill her. Like you were _supposed_ to.”

 

“Ron, no! RON!!”

 

“I told you I would get the children.” Ron said, breathing heavily, his skin pale and waxy. “This’ll all be written up as a terrible tragedy and a failure of the Ministry to finish a job. Goodbye, Hermione.” The door slammed behind him with terrible finality.

 

Hermione stared up at the troll, shuddering at the sight of it licking its lips, spittle dribbling over its chin. “Who is this _she_ you keep talking about? Why has she got my son?” Her hand snaked out to the side, desperately reaching for her wand.

 

“Weasley boy weak fool! Easy mind to twist and break,” the creature laughed. “ _She_ not give up the boy! Your son be honoured, tasty witch. He will be vessel for her return and she will walk once more, new form, free from this house!”

 

“Not if I can help it!”

 

Hermione’s heart soared as she heard George’s voice, shortly before his foot caught the monster under the chin with a sickening crunch. The creature spun away, slamming into the wall.

 

Grabbing her hand the red-head hauled the witch to her feet. “Go, find Hugo. There’s an elf in the basement, an evil bitch of one! You’ll need this,” he said, pressing something papery into her hand.

 

“Basement…?” Hermione struggled to wrap her mind around this thought. She realised that she had completely forgotten that the house even had a basement! “Rose…?” Her head was spinning, strange forgotten things coming back to her… the strange sounds, the spit on her face; she had forgotten all of it! She struggled to clear her head, to keep up with what was happening. All the time, the repeating thought fought for attention; _Ron, why?_

 

“She’s fine, she’s safe! Go, Hermione, I’ll take care of this little shit!” George growled.

 

Hermione ran, snatching her wand from the floor as she went and George was left with the troll. The monster put a small blowpipe to its lips and blew. The man flicked his wand and a shield charm sprang to life; a tiny splinter of wood, no bigger than a needle, ricocheted away.

 

“Trying to Theo me, huh? Right then. Time for you to die like your little…” He stopped suddenly as another troll crab-walked out of Hugo’s wardrobe. Even though it looked almost identical to the other, George knew it was the one from the hospital. Its long fingernails still dripped with blood and George swallowed past the lump of fear that suddenly rose in his throat. “So, don’t know when to stay dead? Back again for another dose, huh?”

 

“None of us die, while _she_ live, Weasley,” it hissed, with a grin.

 

“Huh… that’s… that’s annoying,” George muttered, readying his wand.

 

Both of them leapt into the air, hands grasping for George’s throat.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Hermione clattered down the stairs, gasping for breath, her heels sliding her down more than walking. She reached the bottom, just in time to hear shouts of anger and the concussive boom of magic, from upstairs. Her heart clenched as she recognised George’s scream of pain and took a half step back upstairs before Hugo’s cry stopped her dead. It drifted out of the basement, and with a sob of fear, the witch ran towards the door.

 

She hesitated for a moment, gripped with a terrible fear suddenly. Steeling her nerve she wrenched the door open, a stench of burning incense instantly turning her stomach. Hugo’s wail of fear set her moving and she clattered down the stairs as fast as she could. How long had it been since she had last thought about the basement? What strange magic had been used to keep turning her mind away from it, and what in Merlin’s name had been going on down here?

 

Reaching the bottom she got her answer. She found the area lit up with burning torches, steel brackets holding them in place on the wall. Against one wall hung Fred, the red-head bloodied and limp, held in place by blazing balls of light at his wrists, arms above his head. His wand lay at his feet, broken in two.

 

A large, intricate symbol had been scrawled on the floor in white chalk or crayon. Surrounded by a circle of runic symbols, a pentagram lay in the centre, two points facing towards her. Around the inscriptions lay numerous skulls and crystals. The skulls were half cleaned, lumps of rotting flesh still clinging to them in places. They were small, mostly birds and small animals; cats, dogs, though some were disturbingly larger. The crystals seemed to throb, absorbing the light from the torches, rather than reflecting it. Daggers stood, points facing inwards at certain places on the pentagram.

 

The other side of the pentagram was dark; a living darkness that pulsed and breathed with a malevolent energy. In the centre, between the circles and the various objects, lay Hugo.

 

Something that looked like a thin, jointed pole, black as night and covered in wiry hair, pressed into the centre of the boy’s chest and the little red-haired boy squirmed and mewled, as if in pain. The end of the spindle was hidden in the darkness and Hermione was forcibly reminded of the time she had seen a spider, enlarged to many times it’s original size… it looked for all the world like a huge spider’s leg, pinning her son to the floor.

 

A noise dragged her attention to her right and she gasped. Ron lay on his back, trying to move towards her. Terrible wounds had torn his robes and the edge of each cut was already blackening with rot and pus as the young man’s flesh was poisoned by the elf’s magic.

 

“Hermione…”

 

“Ron! Merlin, what happened… what have you done!?”

 

He didn’t answer, merely stared up at her with desperate eyes as his blood flowed onto the concrete floor.

 

“Alýfedlíc ierscipe æt regol hine!”

 

The voice came from the darkness, harsh but strangely feminine and otherworldly. Hermione spun back, a blast of white energy leaping from her wand, a cry of fear and anger on her lips. The bolt vanished into the darkness, absorbed without a sound.

 

“Hugo!” Hermione cried dashing forward.

 

“MUMMY!”

 

She reached the edge of the pentagram and a slim, black spider leg whipped out of the shadows, batting her back. She skidded on her bottom and then rolled till she reached the entrance to the basement. Struggling to stand she gave a cry of revulsion as she stared back at the shadows.

 

More legs had appeared as the darkness faded. Three more limbs to join the one still holding Hugo prone. They all joined together at the centre of the darkness, holding aloft a wasted and shrivelled corpse-like being. The only thing that identified it as possibly female were the sags of flesh on her chest. Her hairless head was covered in greying, wrinkled flesh, her nose almost completely decayed to a hole and lips, shrunken and almost non-existent. Her teeth were blackened and twisted, one side of her face peeling away and revealing the jagged mess within her mouth. Her ears were simple strips of dried skin that hung down from her head. The spare flesh on her body clung to bones that were clearly visible, a large knife held in one taloned hand. The torso tapered inwards at the waist and the abdomen was pale and wrinkled, devoid of genitalia. Below the waist hung broken and twisted limbs; to call them legs would be a stretch. The flesh had rotted almost completely away and the muscles, visible through the cuts and tears, were wasted and blackened.

 

The spider legs carried her further into the light, bringing her over Hugo who had curled into a ball as much as he could, fists covering his eyes, screaming in fear at the monstrosity above him.

 

As Hermione started to move, a tendril of blackened smoke snaked out from the elf’s outstretched hand, whipping around the witch’s throat and hauling her into the air. As she choked and kicked, her airway sealed off, she saw another strand of shadowy darkness creep out and grab Ron’s unmoving body around the ankles.

 

As he began to be dragged, Ron seemed to awaken, a sudden panic gripping him. He whimpered in fear as he was lifted into the air.

 

“Feeble witch. Your mind calls him monster,” the creature hissed. “I hear it! Revulsion in your heart. You, who cheated on he who loved you? Hurt him, poisoned his heart against you. You _dare_ condemn him as evil, when _you_ mock your sacred vows? You, who hold yourself a good person, a good mother… you are as bad as the man you revile!

 

“But your wicked actions… your fear and that of your children… your terrible, hypocritical, self-righteous anger… It fed me and sustained my pets. Your sub-conscious guilt… so easy to use, to twist your perceptions and help to hide us. How many times did you ignore the strange goings on? How often would you refuse to come down here, and then forget it ever happened? Guilt can make people stupid, and I can use that. I need greater fare than your meagre emotions can provide now, though, to complete my restoration…”

 

Hermione fought and kicked, somehow managing to haul on the smoky tendril enough that it slackened, allowing her to draw a desperate breath.

 

“What the hell _are_ you?” she gasped.

 

“Ic béo sé ælfsiden. Ic béo sé egesung. I am that which will take your child’s life-force for my own and destroy your pathetic, adulterous existence! He is strong, powerful in magic. He will restore me.” It lifted Ron higher, until they were eye to eye, her head cocked to one side. “Your anger was strong, young Weasley,” the creature said, “and it woke one of my trolls, that still roamed free.

 

“Your mind was easy to manipulate, to twist further and further toward darkness. My troll sat on your chest as you slept, poisoning your dreams and whispering its dark promises. And you agreed to more and more terrible acts… you broke the charm that protected this house; you promised to let me go free, if I helped you; your wife’s murder, and just now, sacrificing your brother in the hope that it will save your son… all wonderfully terrible things.

 

“You gave me the keys to my freedom and, I suppose, I should thank that Horcrux for making your fears and jealousy so easy to enhance. For being a weak and broken fool, I owe you my thanks, Ronald Weasley.

 

Hermione could see what was about to happen and fought harder, starting to cry out in horror as the elf’s jaw unhinged, cheeks splitting apart and the upper and lower jaws reaching forwards from her face, spreading wider than humanly possible.

 

Ron panted with fear, desperately trying to escape. Hermione sobbed in terror.

 

The elf’s voice, made distorted and sibilant by the twisted configuration of her jaw, hissed out of the cavernous void that was her throat. “But now I give you your reward… and punishment for betraying your blood!”

 

The jaws snapped closed, over Ron’s body, his head and upper arms vanishing within. His cries were muffled, his leg muscles twitching, and blood rained down upon the basement floor, spraying out to paint Hermione’s face in a warm mist. Droplets fell upon the pentagram, covering Hugo and the various artefacts around him. The little boy was screaming still, hands covering his face.

 

A dreadful sucking noise filled the room as Hermione panted with fear, desperately trying to pull herself free and retrieve her wand.

 

She watched in horror as Ron’s body began to deflate, a dark light pulsing in the elf’s eyes as her flesh began to knit together, healing and reforming across her body. Muscles grew, skin covered the wreckage of her torso, her breasts filled out. Her skin tone changed from grey, to chalky, then white.

 

As Hermione struggled she remembered the paper that George had given her. Desperately hanging onto the shadowy tendril with one hand, she plunged her other into her pocket, ripping the paper free. She stared in confusion at the yellowed envelope for a moment, before tearing it in half with her teeth.

 

The silver splinter within fell free.

 

Hermione saw it in the fitful light and recognised it from her first week in the house. It tumbled away from her desperate fingers, brushing against the snakelike appendage holding the witch aloft. At its touch the elf screamed in sudden pain, hurling Ron’s corpse across the room. The shadowy limbs withdrew rapidly, snapping back into the creature’s hand, dropping Hermione to the floor in a heap. The orbs of light that pinned Fred to the wall dissipated and the man fell to the floor. The darkness that had surrounded the elf vanished and she staggered back, away from Hermione, her face and jaw slowly reforming once more. Although her flesh had started to close, her legs were still a broken and mangled mess.

 

Hermione shook her head to clear it of the ringing, seeing Fred start to stir and moan a little. “Where is it…?” she muttered, casting around, looking for the silver shard, a life line in this terrible nightmare she was caught in. Snatching her wand up she cast a ball of magic to the ceiling, flooding the area with a brilliant white light.

 

 “Fred!” she screamed, trying to watch the elf, Hugo _and_ look for the silver splinter at the same time. “Fred, please wake up!”

 

“Enough of this!” the elf spat, turning to face Hermione once more, her expression as dark as storm clouds. The knife was held out, threads of darkness worming their way out of her fingers and curling into thick ropes of shadow. “Your son’s life will be mine!”

 

Hermione clenched her jaw, wand pointed at the creature’s face, the other behind her back. “You touch my son again,” she hissed, through gritted teeth, “and I will feed you your own fucking legs!”

 

“Hermione…” Fred was awake and Hermione felt her heart soar.

 

“Fred, get Hugo and get him out of here!” As Hermione moved sideways, the elf moved as well. She kept the pentagram between them, eyes constantly flicking towards the hand Hermione held behind her back. _She thinks I still have it!_ she realised. _She thinks I’m still holding the splinter!_

 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fred, frozen in fear at the sight of the elf. “Fred! Move!” Hermione feinted towards the elf, her hidden hand twitching. The motion caused the elf to back up, one spider leg lifting to rest against the back wall of the room. She hissed at Hermione and the witch felt a thread of confidence worm its way through her… until she remembered that she didn’t _have_ the splinter! If the elf called her bluff…

 

Fred, heartened by the elf’s reluctance to advance, scuttled towards Hugo, knocking aside the skulls and crystals, grabbing the howling boy and hauling him towards the door. The little boy screamed and fought, striking out at his uncle in blind panic.

 

Involuntarily, Hermione turned towards him, and the elf struck. A spider leg swept the witch’s feet out from under her and a thread of darkness lashed out like a whip, striking the ground, missing her by a whisker as she rolled aside. The concrete floor shattered where it impacted, leaving a shallow crater.

 

Realising that her bluff had been called Hermione surged to her feet and let loose with every offensive spell she had in her arsenal. Flashes of light and explosions of fire rocked the basement, balls of lightning bursting with deafening rolls of terrible thunder. Hermione backed towards the entrance, seeing over her shoulder Fred dashing up the stairs, Hugo held in his arms. The little boy’s eyes were wide as he stared over the older man’s shoulder, his mouth a wide circle as he shrieked for his mummy.

 

The elf batted each spell aside with its limbs, absorbed them with her magic and advanced closer and closer, her terrible face locked in a rictus of fury. Hermione felt her feet grabbed suddenly and her world was jerked out from under her. A sharp stab of pain lit up her shoulder as she hit the ground, then her head smacked hard on the concrete and sparks filled her vision, the edges blackening alarmingly. Hermione fought to remain conscious.

 

A tendril of darkness wrapped itself around the witch’s waist and pulled her into the air, a devastating backhand rocking her head back and filling her mouth with the taste of iron.

 

“You have _failed_ , little witch,” the elf roared, knife pressed against Hermione’s chest, ready to strike. “The sun shall rise for the last time, before it is darkened by my power. I shall be returned to my former glory; stronger than any magic user on earth, more powerful than the earth itself. All shall kneel before me!”

 

Hermione grinned, blood staining her teeth, and pulled the silver needle from her shoulder.

 

“Like fuck they will!”

 

The point of the sliver pierced the elf’s eye, plunging deep into the socket, as Hermione jabbed her hand forward with a cry. As the elf screamed in pain and tendrils of smoke began to pour from the wound, Hermione was released and began to fall. A terrible pain lit up her body and the bloodied witch saw the knife hilt sticking out of her stomach.

 

“ _Bombarda!_ ” she screamed, wand aimed for the howling creature’s eye. The spell blasted the monstrosity backwards, the force pushing the needle deeper, through the back of the eye socket, and into the monster’s brain.

 

Hermione struck the floor, her head smashing into the concrete once more. A wave of nausea swept over the battered witch and she felt her stomach surge. The knife wound throbbed sharply and it was enough to make her vomit, crying in pain as the muscle cramps twisted the wound.

 

Her vision darkened and she felt herself falling, plunging into an abyss that swallowed her whole. Her last sight was of the elf, thrashing and shrieking, collapsing in on itself. It melted and bubbled, its flesh running like water, dissolving away into nothingness.

 

Hermione closed her eyes and saw no more.


	8. Aftermath

Rose Weasley stepped forward, her bushy, red hair tied back in an intricate tail. With tears in her eyes, she placed a simple bouquet of white flowers on the grave. Her bottom lip trembled as she whispered, “Love you,” before stepping back and throwing her arms around the man behind her, burying her face in her uncle’s black coat. Rose’s dark dress blended into the red-head’s suit, as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and hugging her.

 

The man blinked tears from his eyes as he looked down at the graves around him. The Weasley family plot was getting full, he thought to himself, one more added to the ground. He turned and guided Rose back towards his car, helping her into the back before following her in.

 

The headstone rested amongst its fellows, the epitaph stark in the half light of the winter sunshine.

 

_Ronald Bilius Weasley_

_1 st March 1980 – 21st December 2013_

_Beloved and Devoted Father, Husband and Son_

In the car, Fred leant his head back against the seat cushion, staring at the roof. The little girl at his side curled up against him, resting her head on his lap. With a sigh he stroked her head as she cried softly to herself. As the miles drifted by, her cries slowed and eventually stopped as she gradually drifted off to sleep.

 

The flame-haired man looked down at his niece with a sad smile. She could never know what Ron had done, what he had tried to do. She had to remember her father as the kind and loving man he had always been with her. She would find out some things, eventually; these awful secrets had ways of sneaking out of the woodwork in time.

 

Eventually they pulled up outside St Mungo’s, Fred picking Rose up and carrying her in, thanking the driver as he went.

 

Theo Nott looked up as Fred walked in, his eyes softening as he saw the sleeping girl in Fred’s arms.

 

“Hello Nott, old boy,” Fred whispered, gently laying Rose down on a chair, watching as it magically expanded and shifted to accept the girl’s sleeping form, cradling her softly. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“They say I’ll be out today, as soon as the Healer has had another look at my injury and is satisfied that it really _has_ stopped spreading.”

 

“It’s been a tough month hasn’t it?” Fred grinned, glancing at Theo’s hand and bandage wrapped chest.

 

“You could say that, Fred. It’s not been the best Christmas ever, that’s…”

 

“Knock-knock!”

 

Theo felt his blood chill and he shuddered as a man popped his head around the doorway. Involuntarily he was reminded of when Paige had visited him. The poor girl hadn’t stood a chance and Theo hadn’t even been able to get out of St Mungo’s to attend her funeral. His chest ached in remembrance; she had only been twenty one and her whole life had been ahead of her.

 

He watched as Fred turned, putting a finger to his lips and nodding his head towards Rose. He stepped forward and embraced his twin, the pair slapping each other lightly on the back. George’s injuries—bruises, a broken rib and a nasty cut across his stomach—had not been life threatening, and had healed quickly.

 

“Please don’t say that, George,” the dark-haired man muttered. “Brings back bad memories.”

 

“Sorry Nott, old boy. How’re you feeling?” said George, moving forward to shake Theo’s good hand lightly.

 

“That’s funny, George, I just said almost exactly the same thing!”

 

“Did you, really?  That's incredible!  What a lovely story!”

“I know! Great minds and all that.”

Theo shook his head. “Please lads, don’t start.”

“Ahh, you’re no fun, Theo,” said George. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Hardly seems appropriate to lighten the mood, George. What with…” Theo gestured weakly around the room, seemingly trying to encompass the death and mayhem caused and the aftermath that was still on-going.

“Nah, maybe you’re right there,” Fred said with a grimace. “It just kind of…"

“Slips out, sometimes.”

“Can’t help it.” Fred turned to his brother. “Hey, any news from…”

“No. No word.” George sighed, sadly. “Mum just doesn’t want to talk at the moment. Whenever she tries she just breaks down. Dad’s been into the shop, earlier today. I think Charlie is coming over this week, as soon as they’ve sorted out where his Portkey will drop him.”

 

There was an actual knock on the door this time, a soft tap that was hesitant and quiet, but cut through the conversation like a knife. All three turned to look, seeing the tired and haunted face of Harry Potter. The man swallowed hard and stepped into the room, feeling the temperature drop as Theo glared at him. Even the twins looked angry.

 

“Guys… I… I wanted to talk to Hermione. But that’s… well, you know. That’s not possible…”

 

“What are you doing here, Potter?” said Theo.

 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I helped Hermione find that house, let Ron talk me into recommending it and pushed Hermione to take it. I should have looked a little harder, should have been more paranoid about it… about his motives, and I… I wasn’t.” Harry drew a shuddering breath and Fred smiled sadly. “I’m just… it’s my fault…”

 

George stepped forward and held up a hand, stopping the younger man from speaking. “Harry,” he said, holding onto his shoulders, “it’s okay mate. We don’t blame you, for any of it.” Harry gave a sob, letting the tears that he had been holding in since Ron’s funeral finally come. The taller man pulled Harry in for a hug as he cried, tears filling his own eyes. “He was sick, mate. He was very ill and made some awful decisions, but none of it was your fault. It was those damn creatures that did this.”

 

Theo sighed and added his voice to George’s, holding a hand out to Harry. “He’s right, Harry. I’m sorry too, but it wasn’t your fault. That elf twisted all his insecurities into something it could use.” The two shook hands and smiled slightly.

 

“’All his insecurities’?” muttered George. “Is it any wonder he got all twisted up, thanks to you and Hermione carrying on the way you did? If anyone should feel like shit…”

 

“Do you think I _don’t_ feel like a complete arsehole, George?” hissed Theo. “Merlin’s Beard, none of this was planned! It… happened…”

 

“Again, and again, and again,” Fred said, quietly. Rose still slept nearby, and the men were trying not to let their tempers get out of control.

 

“…and it wouldn’t have got as bad as it had, if that fucking troll hadn’t got its twisted claws into him! Yes, Hermione and I fucked up. It shouldn’t have happened, I know that, but it did… and all I can do now is apologise.”

 

“Small comfort, mate, to be fair,” said George, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Theo looked down, sighing. “I… I know, George. If we hadn’t strayed, Ron wouldn’t have been so angry; the troll wouldn’t have been able to mess him up so badly…”

 

“Well,” said Harry, “maybe.” He looked around at the quizzical looks the other gave him. “Those trolls are pretty strong. Legends and myths were made about them by Muggles, about how they produce powerful nightmares in their victims. They weren’t wrong, and those trolls got a pretty high danger rating; not quite as high as the elf, but nothing to be sniffed at. They’re able to use the nightmares to implant suggestions, to manipulate someone’s fears… If they get their victim unawares, there’s potentially no limit to what they can make them do.”

 

Despite himself Fred gave a small laugh. “Have you taken over from Hermione and been hitting the library, Harry?”

 

“Something like that,” the younger man said, with a small smile. “All it would have needed was the smallest weakness to work with… without the affair it probably would have taken longer, but it may have got there in the end… Ron said to me, before the affair, that he was sure that Hermione felt distant from him. Ron was pushing her away, almost as a defence; thinking maybe that if he did it first it wouldn’t hurt so much…”

 

George shrugged. “So you’re talking chicken and egg here, aren’t you? Would it have happened anyway? Circe knows, but the fact is that the affair happened.”

 

“This caused the anger, woke the troll in the first place…” said Fred.

 

“…and the rest, as they say, is history!”

 

“Maybe,” said Harry, “but I get the feeling that Ron would have felt those feelings eventually. I still remember the Horcrux messing with him, while we were on the run… Even if they had broken up, which was coming… as soon as Hermione tried to move on, to find someone else…”

 

“Bit of a stretch, Harry! You’re trying to say that all that the affair did was make this happen sooner, rather than later?”

 

“I’m just trying to rationalise it… find an answer…”

 

George sighed, and put his arm round the young wizard’s shoulders. “I know, mate, I know. Look, nothing we say here is going to change what happened. Ron got screwed over, bad shit happened and he… he ends up dead. We’ve lost a brother, his children have lost their father, and you’ve lost a friend. How we all move on from here… fucked if I know…”

 

“We know that Mum’s gonna take over from where Ron left off, with the custody battle,” Fred said, looking down at Rose, sadly, “but how _we_ feel about it?”

 

“Conflicted, brother-dear.” George glanced at Theo. “Really want to hate you, Theo, but… you seem like a decent enough guy. And we don’t want our little niece and nephew getting pulled apart, getting messed in the head, while all this is going on…”

 

“So, for now,” said Fred, holding a hand out to Theo, “we’re officially calling a truce.” Theo shook Fred’s hand, slightly open mouthed in confusion. “This isn’t over, and we’ll deal with all the shit later, but for now…”

 

“Think of it as a cessation of hostilities. Just while the dust settles… Best we can offer,” said George.

 

“Truce accepted, gladly!” said Theo, in wonder. “I don’t want these kids being used as pawns, ever again. They’ve been through enough!”

 

“Exactly, Fred and I will keep doing what we’ve been doing; trying to keep everyone’s heads on straight, as much as we can. Someone has to play Devil’s advocate, and it might as well be us. When everyone’s able to talk sensibly again, and the passion’s dropped a little… well, we’ll see… The most important thing is the kids. Everything else will have to come later.”

 

“Good enough,” Theo said with a smile, shaking the twins’ hands again.

 

They all stood around for a little while longer, talking quietly amongst themselves. Harry eventually brought up the other reason he had come here. “George, I need to check over some things you said in your statement. About the fight you had with those creatures?”

  
“Fire away, mate. What’s up?”

 

“Nothing major but I just wanted to clarify a couple of details. You said you managed to kill both of them…?”

 

George puffed a breath out, leaning back and remembering that fight in young Hugo’s nursery. “Yeah, just about. Tricky little bastards, they were! Managed to get one of them with the same trick I saw the guard here use; trap it in a shrinking cage of electricity. It couldn’t get out and eventually it just went squidge and disintegrated.”

 

Harry nodded, taking notes as George spoke. “And the other one?”

 

“Well, he was a bit more fun. Gave me a broken rib when he threw Hugo’s bed at me! Pinned me down after slashing me across the stomach… I tell you what, that one was close to ending me there! I thought the git had eviscerated me!”

 

Harry smiled as he saw George getting into the tale, Fred rolling his eyes, no doubt having heard this many times before. “Just the facts please, George. Try not to get carried away now.”

 

“Boring, but fine,” the red-head said with a grin. “Basically he loomed above me, claws up and ready to strike, then just… stopped. He gave this funny little scream, like he was choking on something and then keeled over, convulsing.” George shrugged. “I have no idea what caused it but I got out of his way, blasted him with some electric and squashed him too.”

 

“Our guess is that the fit coincided with the elf’s death, in the basement,” said Harry. “The trolls seemed to be linked, so that when she died their connection was severed. Their next death would be their last, in theory.”

 

“Yeah, one of them said that they wouldn’t die while she still lived. I mean the one who was killed here the first time came back…”

 

Theo made a noise and they all turned to face him. His eyes were wide. “Oh Merlin… George,” he gasped, “you killed one of them first… _before_ the elf died…”

 

The twins and Harry paled as the implications of this sunk in. All of them started talking at once.

 

“One of them may still be alive…”

 

“We’ve got to do something…”

 

“No, Theo, you can’t go anywhere…”

 

“We’ve got to warn Hermione!”

 

“She’s in isolation, with Hugo. No-one but Rose and the staff are allowed in…”

 

“It’s alright, Harry can override the wards in an emergency.”

 

“Wait… Where _is_ Rose?”

 

The little girl was no-where to be seen.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, feeling every ache in her body once again. The peace of sleep had kept the pain of her injuries at bay, but as well as being awake, the various healing and pain relief charms had worn off now and she hurt. With a moan, she slowly hauled herself up, feeling the wound in her stomach protest. The healing charm was slowly knitting her flesh together but the blade had been cursed; it had taken the Healers a long time to counteract that and then begin work on repairing the damage.

 

She had lived though, which was more than she had expected.

 

She sensed, more than saw, a movement in one corner of the room and jerked around to look, her heart leaping into her throat, hand scrabbling at her wrist for her wand. There was nothing there, just Hugo in his bed, set up in the corner of her hospital room. Slowly her heart calmed and she breathed easier once more.

 

The boy had been subjected to all sorts of tests, just to make sure he was okay after his experience. Every test had come back fine and he was fit and healthy. He woke up scared and needed to be held and reassured every night, and he no longer napped; something Hermione had expected eventually but was a little disappointed that it had come so soon. No afternoon breaks anymore, she thought with a wry grin. It turned into a sad sigh as she contemplated again what had happened to the little boy to force this change.

 

If he slept soundly again she would be surprised. If _she_ slept soundly either, for that matter.

 

She kept hearing the elf’s voice in her dreams, and the words were emblazoned on her mind. They burned, like a scar. _Alýfedlíc ierscipe æt regol hine! Ic béo sé ælfsiden. Ic béo sé egesung_. She shuddered in remembrance. She had had the time to do what she usually did in a crisis or at the end of one; visit a library. Or, in this case, get her friends to bring the library to her, via the staff; they still wouldn’t let her have visitors. Not until they were sure they had removed every trace of the curse from her body.

 

She had discovered the elf’s language after some reading, working it out to be Old English. She had managed to find—be given, rather—a decent reference book which allowed her to translate its words as best she could. _Allowed his anger to guide him_ it had said, _I am the nightmare_ or _elf. I am the fear/terror._ Ron had allowed his anger at her to put their children in terrible danger and she could never forgive him for what had happened.

 

She knew it was unfair, that the troll and the elf’s influence had twisted him… but he had still made a deal with the elf’s minions—and through them, the elf itself—to sacrifice her and Fred, so he could take the children.

 

It was horrible to contemplate that the man who had once been her lover, her confidant and her best friend, had been changed so drastically. This was beyond the jealousy the Horcrux had caused in him.

 

She shivered, remembering the scathing comments the elf had made about her; her infidelity, her hypocrisy, judging Ron, when _she_ had destroyed their family. She had to live with what she had done. Theo probably felt the same guilt as she did. If they hadn’t cheated… well, there was every likelihood that the marriage would still have ended, but it almost certainly wouldn’t have resulted in Ron and Paige’s death! Those deaths would always rest on her conscience. The creature had been right; she tried to hold herself above Ron, and the terrible thing he had done, but the initial cause lay at her door. Maybe without the affair the troll wouldn’t have been woken, but there was no way to know. All she could do is try to keep her kids safe, and live a better life.

 

Hugo turned over in his bed, sighing softly. The movement dislodged his toy monkey and it tumbled forward to lie over the little boy’s body. The bushy haired witch smiled tiredly and slowly swung her legs out of bed, tentatively walking towards her son’s bed, intending on righting the little toy. Her movements were pained and stilted; she had been sleeping and it always took her muscles a while to wake up these days. That coupled with her injuries meant that every move pulled at her barely healed wounds.

 

She just wished that the Healers would let her go home now. She had been stuck here for the last few weeks, trapped by—in her opinion—over protective nannies that refused to leave her alone. They wanted to check she wasn’t infected; they wanted to check that neither she nor Hugo were suffering any lasting effects of their nightmarish experience. It’s not like she didn’t know how to brew a calming draught, for Merlin’s sake!

 

Poor Theo was downstairs somewhere, out of isolation, but still not allowed to go home. In a way she was glad; he was close and that comforted her. She had finally come to realise, especially when she had been told of the terrible injuries he had sustained, the true depth of her feelings for the man. What had begun as a fling had become so much deeper, something stronger. She did actually love the dark-haired wizard.

 

The nightmare was over, finally. She was more than capable of taking care of her children and herself. She had been doing so for a long time and that wasn’t about to change…

 

She paused, halfway across the room. Her eyes fixed on Hugo’s bed, watching him breathe, deeply and evenly. Something was not right and Hermione’s flesh shrunk with a nameless dread.

 

Not taking her eyes off of the bed she stepped backwards, hand held out to her bedside cabinet. Blindly she fumbled around, knocking aside cards and books, given by well-wishers and visitors, and brought in by the staff. Finally her fingers closed around her prize; a pair of thick rimmed glasses.

 

Slipping them on, she finally took her eyes off of the bed, sliding her eyes to one side and looking out of the corners instead.

 

As she had suspected it was _not_ Hugo’s monkey that had fallen on the young boy. It wore a green t-shirt like the monkey, but once again Hermione saw the hideous form of a troll, masquerading as her son’s favourite toy. She couldn’t hide her grunt of rage, smashing everything aside in a lunge for her wand, and the troll heard her. It leapt up, dragging Hugo by his hair and holding its wicked claws against the young boy’s throat.

 

Hugo began to scream in fear and Hermione paused, hand grasping her wand, but afraid to use it. Over the sound of the Hugo’s cries, the two beings stared at each other, caught in this stand-off. The little troll grinned, spittle dripping from its evil mouth.

 

“Get away from my brother!”

 

Rose’s voice was angry, filled with a seething fury that Hermione had never heard before. She turned, seeing her young daughter stood in the doorway, her eyes blotchy from tears. The young girl’s magic, which had until now, only come by accident or when she was surprised, erupted from her with control and precision: a crackling bolt of electricity leapt from the girl’s hand to envelope the grotesque creature.

 

Hugo fell out of its grasp, scrambling forwards and away. Hermione dashed in, scooping the boy into her arms and pulled him close, backing away from the screeching monster. Rose added another ball of sparking energy, lifting the troll up and pinning it to the ceiling. Her eyes were narrowed, her face twisted in hate, as alarms blared, warning of aggressive magic being used in the hospital.

 

The troll twisted and jerked, its hair bursting into flames and its mewling voice pleading for release. Hermione could only watch, eyes flicking between the creature and her daughter, as the cage of energy shrunk rapidly to nothing, crushing the troll inside and transforming its body to nothing more than dust.

 

As soon as the creature died, Rose dropped her hands to her sides, chest heaving, and tears filling her eyes. As she started to sob, Hermione held out her hand, calling her name.

 

“Mummy!” Rose cried, running into her mother’s embrace.

 

Fred, George and Harry, bursting into the ward in a rush, just ahead of the security guards, found the three there a short time later, crying and laughing at the same time. The tired witch looked over the heads of her children and smiled at the group by the door.

 

 _Now_ it was over.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Many miles away, in a small churchyard in the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, a breeze stirred in the air. Leaves were gently lifted and drifted across the grass that swayed in the wind. The soft noises, as the leaves bounced off the various gravestones, was the only sound for a moment. The graveyard was bathed in the full moon’s light, and the cloudless sky was spackled with stars, each adding their tiny light to the night.

 

An owl, on the hunt for elusive prey, hooted mournfully as its shadow passed across the face of the moon, cursing—in its animal way—the bright light that hindered its search. It was easy to be seen in this brightness. It banked sharply, seeing movement at one end of the yard. A harsh noise, something being scraped across stone, reached its ears and its eyes picked out the movement; something big bounding away, into the shadows.

 

It had been too small to be one of those two-legs that seemed to be everywhere, even one of their young. Maybe it had been a really young one, though if the owl had cared about the matter, or understood humans, it might have wondered why such a small human was out in a churchyard at night.

 

The owl alighted on a stone, ruffling its feathers slightly to keep out the chill of the winter’s night. Its head swivelled, looking around for danger, or something to hunt. An owl has no sense of smell, so it couldn’t smell the strange, harsh scent that wafted up from the base of the stone it had chosen as its perch, but it saw the slight wisps of smoke coming from ground level, and felt a strange shiver of fear course through its feathered body.

 

It flexed its wings, suddenly wanting to be away from here, fast.

 

A blur of shadow streaked across its vision and it had barely time to start in surprise before its large, feathered head tumbled from its shoulders. The body stayed still, claws clutching the stone in reflex, as its life’s blood spurted from the stump of its neck, flowing over the stone; running in rivulets across its polished surface; gathering in the carefully carved letters, until the words were red in the moon’s light.

 

The gentle cursive of the stonemason’s work was marred by another word, harshly scratched into the surface by a sharp object; the blade of a knife, or maybe a letter opener.

 

‘UNGESÆLIG’

 

The letters cut through Ron Weasley’s name, the dates inscribed below, and obliterated the word ‘Beloved’.

 

It would be some time before the news of this vandalism would reach Hermione’s ears, but it would come in the form of a Howler from Molly Weasley, accusing the witch of committing this sacrilege herself. Hermione would shudder with fear, recognising the word, knowing its Old English roots; ‘Cursed’, the word said. She would clutch her arms around herself, feeling her blood run cold, and her fear for her children spike.

 

For now though, the only witness was the cooling corpse of a decapitated white owl, its feathers stained in blood, its sightless eyes staring up at the full moon.

 

Silence had fallen again, marred only by the soulful sighing of the breeze, until, with a quiet thump, the body of the owl fell to the grass.

 

There was a hissing cackle of laughter, like a snake laughing, and then the rapid but quiet sound of running—small, bare feet dashing through the grass—as if a tiny figure sprinted through the graveyard, and vanished into the night.


	9. Epilogue

_One Year Later…_

 

Hermione waited, anxiously, her foot only tapping a little bit. Hordes of young children streamed past her and the other mums and dads, waiting at the gates of the Muggle school. Hugo was next to her, strapped into his buggy, head lolled to one side, fast asleep. A little damp patch stained his coat, just below his chin, and his breath steamed in the cold air.

 

Ducking down Hermione surreptitiously checked the warming charm she had fixed to the little boy’s coat, renewing it with a whisper of magic. The air around him warmed noticeably and his breath was no longer visible. Carefully, the witch checked around her, making sure that no-one had noticed the little exchange; all the other parents were too busy with their own lives and children. The kids barely saw Hugo at all and certainly weren’t paying any attention to Hermione.

 

She stood, turning the buggy to face away from her, so as best to protect Hugo from the winter breeze. Looking around again her watchful eyes alighted on Rose’s bright red jacket, scarf and hat, weaving their way through the crowd. The little girl skipped across the crowded playground and jumped into her mum’s arms, squeezing her neck tightly.

 

“Mummy, we were doing finger painting today!” the little girl said, loudly, leaning back in Hermione’s arms and showing her hands. Hermione felt her stomach drop slightly as she saw the red staining on her daughter’s skin, remembering the past—the blood. It made her mouth dry to recall, even though she knew it was just paint. The little girl wriggled out of Hermione’s grasp, dropping to the floor to move over to Hugo’s buggy. The rain hood was up and the little girl ducked down to look inside, already talking nonsense to her brother, even though he was asleep.

 

She hoped that she wasn’t going to get another call from Rose’s teacher this term. Since the outburst at the hospital, Rose’s magic had been popping out of her at random times. It seemed that she didn’t have as much control as Hermione had hoped, but it was getting better! Luckily, so far, it hadn’t been anything serious, but there might come a time when the little girl ended up doing something that required intervention from the Ministry. A few ‘unusual occurrences’, as the teacher had called them, wasn’t too bad; flying crayons or coats, the occasional refilling milk carton… minor things. It was fortunate that Rose’s teacher was aware of the magical world; his own daughter had been going to Hogwarts for the last two years.

 

The witch turned at a gentle touch on her arm. “Theo!” she exclaimed, smiling at the man who had just walked up to her side. “I thought you were working today? I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

 

“I _am_ working,” the dark-haired man said, with a laugh. “I’m currently on an assignment, into the dangerous Muggle world, to pick up my girlfriend and her children and take them home.”

 

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek and the man turned his face at the last second, capturing her lips with his. She laughed into his mouth, changing the kiss to something stronger. “You’re a good man, Theo Nott,” she whispered, “and I’m lucky to have you.”

 

Theo smiled, resting his hand on her belly and the witch flushed with pleasure at his touch. She almost imagined that the baby kicked in response to its father’s presence.

 

“Mum,” Rose called, her voice worried. Hermione turned to see her daughter backing away from Hugo’s buggy. She was unable to see inside but Rose’s eyes were fixed upon the interior as she walked backwards. “Mummy!” Her eyes were filled with a terrible fear, her breath heaving in her chest.

 

“Rose…?” Hermione had barely taken a step forward when two, thin black spider’s legs erupted from the opening of the buggy. A gush of blood and flesh came with them, shredded remains of Hugo’s jacket clinging to the limbs. The black, hairy legs struck forward, gripping Rose around the throat and legs, lifting her into the air.

 

The Muggles all around began to scream in fear and alarm as more legs pushed forward, dragging the rotting form of the elf out of the buggy; her flesh hung in tatters, hands sending out bolts of black energy that felled anyone they touched. The buggy collapsed as the elf lifted itself into the air, the remains of Hugo’s tiny body falling to the playground. The sky darkened, black clouds rolling over the sun, flashes of light within them and the grumbling of thunder. Wisps of pale light flowed out of the bodies lying in the school playground as the foul creature drew in the remaining life-force of those around her.

 

Shouting in horror, Hermione and Theo staggered backwards, snatching their wands free. Blood began to fall from the sky in a terrible rain, as the elf grew in size. She lifted Rose higher and higher, screaming in Old English; ancient words that cracked the ground and shattered the windows in the school. Glass blasted into the air, ripping and slicing through the Muggles like they were paper.

 

The witch threw up a desperate shield charm, daggers of glass rattling off of the spell. “Theo! Take out her legs, I have to save Rose!” Hermione glanced over her shoulder when there was no response, eyes falling on the terrible sight behind her.

 

Amongst the bodies of Muggle men, women and children, lay Theo. His blood pooled beneath him, eyes wide, staring blindly into a blackened sky. His throat was slashed open, large knives of glass standing proud from his chest.

 

Hermione screamed in denial, spinning to face the monster before her, her wand raised. A strand of black magic wrapped around her wrist, dragging her into the air. The terrified witch shook her head and struggled desperately as her daughter wailed in fear and pain, the elf pulling her limbs in different directions.

 

The black tendrils of magic crawled over Hermione’s body, wrapping her tighter and tighter, cutting off her breath. She could only watch as blood began to flow from the cuffs of Rose’s coat, her head lolling back, her screams silenced.

 

As her daughter was pulled in four different directions at once, the elf turned flame filled eyes upon the paralysed witch. Her voice cut through her stupor, plunging deep into her soul, and although she knew it was spoken in Old English, the meaning was clear.

 

“I am the nightmare. I am your terror made flesh. I have taken everything from you and your soul is mine!”

 

The elf’s mouth split open, rows of jagged teeth visible in the darkness. The cavernous maw filled Hermione’s vision. “Your son, your daughter, your husband, your lover. Even your unborn child shall be mine!”

 

The grip on Hermione’s body tightened, the bands wrapping closer about her shoulders and waist, pinning her arms. A sharp tendril punched through her stomach, ripping roughly into her body. She could feel the moment that the thread wrapped itself around her unborn child. With a choking cry she felt the terrible warmth flood her bowels, as the delicate sac was wrenched apart. The tiny figure of her baby was torn out of her flesh, crushed and limp in the blood-drenched air, before being tossed aside like garbage.

 

The witch was suddenly dragged forwards, towards the vast opening in the elf’s head, and she screamed in terror, feeling her soul being drawn out of her body. The teeth closed down around her, puncturing her flesh. She struggled, pulling an arm free and hitting out blindly, desperately striking something. A strong grip wrapped her wrist, forcing her arm down, holding it close to her body again.

 

The witch screamed, her throat feeling like it was tearing with the force of her shriek. The pressure on her torso increased and a whisper filled her ears, even as she felt her life being drained from her body.

 

“Hermione,” it said, “Hermione, it’s okay, it’s okay… calm down… calm down, love. Please, sweetheart, I’ve got you… I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

 

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she stared at the black roof of the elf’s mouth, feeling the terrible suction beginning to lessen, and the compression around her body shift. It began to feel like arms, not magical, constricting bands of force.

 

Slowly, her breath panting noisily from her chest, Hermione began to see clearer; the image of the elf’s mouth began to fade and the plain ceiling of her bedroom appeared. The force pressed against her, holding her tight, keeping her secure and preventing her from moving was not the teeth of a terrible being, but a man.

 

He was whispering comforting, meaningless blandishments designed to calm her, bring her down from her panic, her nightmare.

 

With that acknowledgment the last vestiges of her dream evaporated, only the sweat soaking her naked body and the pounding of her heart remaining as evidence. Her chest ached, as if it still remembered the feeling of being crushed.

 

“Theo,” she sobbed, clutching onto her lover, wrapping her arms desperately about his body. He pulled her into his lap, hugging her close and kissing her temple. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow, seemingly synchronising with his as she continued to recover. Her breathing was shallow, her chest feeling tight and heavy. It was several minutes before she could lift her head from Theo’s chest.

 

She first noticed the thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, gods! I’m sorry, was that me?” she said, her voice rough from her screaming.

 

The young man grinned, and wiped the stray trickle away. “Yeah, you caught me a good one this time, before I got hold of your arm.”

 

“I’m so sorry…”

 

“It’s nothing, it’s fine. Are you okay?”

 

She nodded. “Will this dream ever go away?”

 

“You’ll forget all about it, very soon. I’m here for you.” Theo’s voice was rough too, almost gravelly, presumably through lack of sleep. He stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears he found there. “You, Rose, Hugo, and your little sprogling too.” His grin seemed particularly large at this, and the pain in Hermione’s chest seemed to increase.

 

She stammered a little as Theo leant over her, pushing her down to the mattress, and loomed above her.

 

“Theo… what…?”

 

Hermione pushed against his weight, finding it too much for her to shift. She recoiled from his breath as he huffed a laugh in her face. The stench of rotting meat washed over her and her heart galloped again. The sheets beside her were soaked in blood and there was a large, shadowed lump, lying in a twisted heap on the floor of the bedroom.

 

Theo’s mouth opened and the witch tried to scream through the terror that rose in her as its glamour dropped. His jaws were lined with razor sharp fangs, his tongue dripping saliva that splashed onto her neck and chest.

 

“I’m here to take care of all of you!” hissed the troll, raising its razor sharp claws to strike.

 

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to the following awesome peeps;
> 
> Shinigamioni for the usual awesome level of assistance, suggestions and general cheerleading.  
> To imtrouble for the poking and prodding and general emails and posts in Owl Post saying, “Write it, write it, write it now!” :)  
> To my lovely beta readers, Krystle and Kim, for their beta/alpha reading marvelousness!  
> Also with a deep debt of gratitude to Meiri for her help with the Old English in this fic!
> 
> I wanted to write a fic where few of the characters are conventionally good. Hermione and Theo are adulterous buggers, Ron's a weak and vengeful douche, and even Fred and George are somewhat ambiguous in their actions; only Rose and Hugo are truly innocent in all this, as children generally are.
> 
> I was inspired by several different mediums; horror books, Hammer style or early movies, etc, where the reader is somewhat conflicted over how they feel about several characters, especially the protagonists: it's Hermione, I should believe in her, but she's been awful... etc.
> 
> Fanfic writers/readers have a habit of holding the characters on a pedestal, and seem to be able to forgive them all sorts of terrible things, that you wouldn't forgive in the real world. If you read this and felt some of this conflict then I class it as a success.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed the karmic pay-off ;)


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